Just In Time
by T'Be
Summary: It seems that bringing the whales and Gillian Taylor back from the 20th century may have made an impact on history.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: No money is being made from this and no infringement is intended on the Star Trek copyright. 

James Kirk looked slowly around his apartment, feeling almost like a stranger. He tried to conjure up a feeling of "home," but his eye went immediately to the holo on the wall. Scotty had captured her as she was entering Starbase XIV, where he was waiting to overhaul her with a passion Kirk understood all too well. He sighed. Nothing lasts forever, but a piece of him had died, seared in the atmosphere of the Genesis planet. 

"I guess I should get some real art for the walls," he muttered aloud. Only he was partial to his personal photographs, like the cherished holo of Sam and Aurelan. He began to chuckle at the next one—of Bones, his eyebrows slanted and his ears pointed, his hand struggling with the Vulcan salute. McCoy had had it taken in one of those costume holobooths on some shore leave, and he'd given it to Jim as a joke, but it was too good to pass up, so he'd hung it in his quarters, to McCoy's verbose perturbation. Jim had relented before Spock ever saw it, but recently he'd taken it out of storage and put it on the wall. Neither of his friends had seen it there yet.

Then there was the latest addition—Gillian Taylor. He'd had it printed from the records of her testimony before the Starfleet brass. She was standing tall and proud, her eyes glowing as she looked at the future ahead of her. And behind her. He shook his head. _That_ had to be something, having three centuries of future behind you. He wondered what Spock thought of it—he hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it. He mused for a minute about all the times they had interfered with the time-space continuum, and how Spock was always preaching about not altering anything; and of course he'd seen firsthand the dire consequences in the future the smallest action in the past can have. Suddenly troubled, he instructed the comm unit to call Spock.

"Captain," he said, his eyes glancing up for only a second from the terminal at which he was working. "Has Mr. Scott finished his repairs already?"

"No, Spock. I'm calling to ask you about Gillian Taylor."

Now Spock looked up. "Interesting, Captain. I was just doing some research on Dr. Taylor."

"And?" encouraged Kirk.

"I find almost no mention of her in the data banks. Most records were lost in the earthquake of 2016, but as far as I can tell, she made no significant contributions to history."

"On the contrary, Spock, she saved the Earth."

"Quite. But that was in her future."

"Which was our past. Which is hers now, too."

"Exactly, Captain. And that's what concerns me."

"But, Spock, if her coming forward in time made any changes in the timeline, then we wouldn't have returned to the same Twenty-third Century."

"Did we?" he questioned, punctuating it with his eyebrow.

"Explain, Spock."

"Well, Captain, we returned to find the probe attacking Earth, and Starfleet, and people we knew, but how can we be sure that nothing had changed?"

"Perhaps something had, but nothing important."

"We do not know that, Captain. We have not yet checked recorded history against what we remember to be true. I have been running T'Laq's new equations."

"T'Laq—the theoretical historian?"

"Yes. If seven projections are run from a given point in time, to a given point further on in time, there is a ninety-eight point seven percent chance that the actual history will be among those seven alternatives."

"Let me get this straight, Spock. You plug in data about something from one time, tell the program to project ahead a given number of years, and there's a ninety-eight percent chance the actual data for that period will appear in one of the first seven projections it creates?"

"Ninety-eight point seven percent, yes."

"Amazing! But think what this means. With this program you could make a killing at the races!"

"You wish to slaughter horses, Captain?"

"Gambling, Spock! You place seven bets and you have to hit the winner!"

"That hardly seems lucrative, and, unfortunately, the calculations require enormous computer power. I have had to make do with Starfleet's Omni Ten facility. I could perform the calculations in half the time if I could use the H'Gal 714 at the Vulcan Academy."

Kirk swallowed hard. Make do with the Omni Ten? The largest self-generating multi-parallel quantum computer in the Galaxy? Except for the 714 on Vulcan, of course, and word was no human had ever been granted access to thatt. Not that Starfleet was overly liberal with access to the Omni Ten. Come to think of it... "Spock? How did you access the Omni?"

"Starfleet Security has a flaw in one of its programs," Spock answered with his usual straight face.

"And you've kindly discovered it for them and have a report on how to plug the leak all prepared."

One brow raised slightly. "As soon as my calculations are complete, Captain."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Go on," Kirk said, covering his smile with his fist.

"I went back three hundred years in Vulcan records and selected an individual who did not appear again in the records after his death. Then, I ran the equations, having removed that individual, to produce the first seven projections." He lifted a thick pile of printout.

"How long have you been working on this, Spock?" asked Kirk.

"Three point nine five days, Captain."

"But we've only been back four!"

"Four point..."

"Belay that, Spock," said Jim, tensing in frustration. _Did_ Spock do that just to annoy...no, he couldn't. Could he? "What did you get?"

"In four of the seven scenarios, Vulcan failed to join the Federation. In two of them, T'Pau was never born. And in one of them..."

"Yes?"

"In one of them James T. Kirk was killed in _kal-if-farr_." Their eyes locked for a moment, and Spock added, "And this time he stayed dead."

Kirk broke off the stare. "Well, Mr. Spock, then what conclusions do you draw from your research?"

"It is too preliminary for conclusions, Captain."

"Could you make a preliminary summary?" he responded, trying to hide a smirk.

"Well, if T'Laq's equations hold, and if we assume that the timeline is indeed linearly integral, and aberrations in it irreversible, and if we assume a random assignation of alternatives when an aberration occurs..."

Spock noticed Kirk's expression and started again, "If my hypotheses are correct, I would have to agree with T'Laq, who argues that it is impossible to alter the timeline in any way without dire consequences."

"But that would include bringing George and Gracie here."

"Precisely, Captain. There were, however, persuasive reasons for doing so."

"But that action changed the future, and not just by saving the Earth. It also changed the time between 1986 and now."

"Irrevocably, yes. And we do not know to what extent. Whole planets of people might not exist that would have otherwise, and other planets, which never were in our timeline, could be extant. Some of my research suggests that our removal of those two whales may have precipitated the extinction of their species, the very cause of the Earth's predicament when we went in search of them."

"Fascinating, Spock. But you aren't suggesting we take George and Gracie back, are you?"

"The whales, no, Captain."

"But Gillian?" he asked.

The Vulcan lowered his gaze. "Insufficient data, Captain."

"Damn it, Spock! You're saying she should never have come."

"That was apparent at the time, Captain."

"So you think she should go back now, don't you?"

"I cannot say. I was going to perform some more calculations before bringing this matter to you. And we can compare historical records with our memory of history as we know it."

"Well, get on with it then! Let me know when you've come to a conclusion." He cut the connection. Frustrated, he sat down on the bed and reached for his tunic's opening. After fumbling for a few seconds he laughed at himself and pulled the civilian shirt off over his head.

Sleep wouldn't come easily, though. Sometime after midnight he drifted off fitfully. He was haunted by images in the Guardian of Forever—visions of hordes of people, whole civilizations arising and vanishing as he and Spock jumped helplessly in and out of the picture. And then another mass of humanity was chasing whales, alternately harpooning them and netting them for aquaria. Superimposed were scenes of the Earth boiling under some idiot alien vessel's death ray. Across the din he heard a voice scream, "Admiral, if we assume that the whales are ours to do with as we please, we would be as guilty as those who caused their extinction!" He turned to see Gillian, struggling to stay afloat in a vicious sea. He moved to swim to her aid just as a violent explosion sent a mushroom of water spewing into the air. Suddenly, all the activity ceased, and Kirk found himself treading water in a perfectly calm, empty ocean. He woke up in a sweat.

* * *

Spock looked up from the computer and scanned the lab with his eyes. Something deep, deep within him had...twitched. Jim. Since his recent "rebirth," Spock had not often felt the mental link with his captain that his memories told him he had once had, but now the vestigial energy was vibrating. Kirk, too, was concerned about the situation. He addressed the computer, "Coordinate this projection with the last fourteen hundred. Produce..." He paused. Shopping lists, that's what they were. Lists of admirals, lists of federated worlds, list of antiviral agents. He kept trying to find parameters on which the alternative histories could be compared. "Produce list of convicted felons, United Federation of Planets, first half of this year."

"Working," came the atonal voice of the machine. 

A sheet shot from the slot. Spock read down it. His brow shot up as he read the sixty-third entry in the zero-power projection, the actual historical record: _V'galszh, Nei'i Lu Zaan, convicted 8161.3 of piracy and sedition, incarcerated Rehab 99-V. Prosecuting attorney, Colonel Khan Noonian Singh._

"Indeed," he said aloud, and went back to his calculations.

* * *

Kirk turned over and groaned, "Window clear," then immediately grabbed the covers over his head when the brilliant morning sunlight stabbed his eyes. With the end of his dream had come a deep sleep, and he'd overslept. The sun was already high. His spirits matched the bright day, and he whistled to himself while he showered and dressed. By the time he was standing in front of the glass wall with his second cup of coffee, soaking in the view he never seemed to get enough of, he had made his plans for the day--he was going to call up Bones and ask him if he wanted to go camping. Yes, that was it! He hadn't been camping in... Well, in a long time. Fresh air, campfire, no communicator...ah, yes! But where? Where else--Yosemite. _El Capitán_...a little climbing. Maybe Spock would...no, probably not, but he'd ask him. _Nothing_ was going to spoil this!

He spun around from the window at the sound of the comm.

"Captain. You are finally awake." Jim thought Spock looked like he'd been up all night—all refreshed as usual.

"Ah, yes. I...had a rough night. Sorry about the comm—I left it off."

"No problem, Captain. I have that preliminary summary you requested."

It was just a coincidence, wasn't it, that a dark gray cloud chose that moment to cover the sun over San Francisco. Kirk sat down at the desk and said, "Good, Mr. Spock. Let's have it."

"These results are, of course, tentative."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Go on."

"My projections indicate that the longer Dr. Taylor remains in our century, the more damage is being done. The same is true for the amount of time she remains away from her own century."

Kirk's shoulders slumped. "Did you run those first seven projections that you say have a ninety-eight percent accuracy for Gillian?"

"I ran a set of projections with Dr. Taylor remaining in her time, and a set with her remaining here." He paused ominously.

"And?"

"In four of the seven first projections, I could detect few differences in any parameters, whether she remained in 1986 or not. Of course, I checked only seventeen thousand parameters."

"Only. And in the other three?"

"No consensus. In one Admiral Nogura was never born. In another, fourteen of the Federated Planets were never colonized, and there were six new planets in the Federation."

When he didn't go on, Kirk prompted, "And in the seventh?"

"In the seventh, Captain, the human race did not survive beyond the year 2011."

Kirk whistled under his breath. "You puts your money, you makes your bets."

"Captain?"

Kirk straightened. "But we know that's wrong, since we're still here. And I saw Nogura yesterday, and the Federation is as we remember. Isn't it?"

Instead of answering the question, Spock said, "Give me the name of someone you known on...Caliphon VI."

"Caliphon...Bruce Reuter—he's an architect."

"One moment, Captain...he appears on three of the four projections, and... The computer affirms he does exist."

"There!"

"Captain, there are trillions of sentient beings in the Federation alone. The chance of our hitting a missing one among our acquaintances is approximat…"

"I get the idea, Spock. But if that's all, we can take the risk, can't we?"

"I do not know. The problem grows the farther you pursue it, considering future ramifications. That's why I ran the projections from now into the future."

"Okay, what did you get?"

"Pursuing the parameter I have labeled "General History of the Federation," which is an amalgamation of thirty four hundred sixty-eight separate parameters, of the seven projections with Dr. Taylor remaining here, in two of them war with the Klingon Empire occurs within a decade, in two of them the Klingon Empire joins the Federation within the century, in one of them Admiral James T. Kirk becomes the President of the United Federation of Planets..."

"Hell, that better not be the true one!"

A raised brow was Spock's only response to the interruption. "And the sixth and seventh were virtually indistinguishable, except for the curious fact that in the sixth, all records of Dr. Taylor disappear."

"Disappear? Explain, Spock."

"I cannot, Captain. And it becomes even more curious when we examine the data for the projections considering Dr. Taylor to go back to her own time. In the seventh of this series, exactly the same thing happens, all references to Dr. Taylor disappear from all historical records."

"All? Do you mean even for the ones from her own time, and from the retrieval of George and Gracie?"

"Precisely, Captain. She simply vanishes."

"Vanishes? Spock, what is the probability of two projections coming out the same like that?"

"Approximately one chance in fifty-six trillion."

_Approximately?_ Kirk eyed him strangely and said, "Well, they have to be the actual projections, don't they? I mean, if it's so unlikely to get them both by chance, don't they have to reflect the real alternatives?"

"Negative, Captain. Extremely low probability does not mean impossibility. Take your Earth, for example. It is highly unlikely that both the sun and the moon of a given planet will subtend the same visual angle in the sky, making them appear the same size. It is even less likely that this will occur during the time that sentient lifeforms evolve on that planet, yet that is exactly what happened on your Earth. Extremely unlikely, but true. In this case, the extreme unlikelihood of the two events co-occurring does not rule out chance, so even the extreme coincidence could be just that, and not due to any outside influences."

"You mean like the truth."

"The more I deal with alterations in the time-space continuum, Captain, the less suitable I find the word "truth" to describe any one alternative. If we figure in the effect of the Uncertainty Principle in these matters, what _should_ be, what _might_ be, and what _actually_ is tend to blur together."

"I'm beginning to see what you mean."

"That is not all, Captain. Consider the classic time paradox, where one's tampering with the time continuum appears to cause the actual state of events before the tampering, as when I was trapped in the past in Seattle and seem to have played a role in bringing together two of my ancestors."

"You're thinking of the whales, aren't you, that projection you mentioned where our bringing the whales to our time caused their extinction in the past."

"Among other things, yes. Since the whales were, in fact, extinct before we went back for them, then if our bringing them contributed to their extinction, it must have been 'planned on' in a sense in the continuum."

"Then we _didn't_ change time by going back!"

"Perhaps, Captain. But only perhaps."

"This is giving me a headache. Listen, I've got a great idea. Why don't we forget all this for a couple of weeks. We're on leave, the_Enterprise_ isn't ready yet, let's go camping!"

"Camping, sir?"

"Yes, you know, sleeping under the stars, a roaring campfire, fresh mountain air, beautif..." He broke off as Spock pulled one of his most exaggerated perplexed looks. "Whatsa matter, Spock, haven't you ever been camping?"

"Affirmative, Captain. I have often been required to provide for myself under primitive conditions. I am merely contemplating why humans, for whom creature comforts are so important, would voluntarily do so."

"For _fun_, Spock!"

"Fun? Then camping is a ritual form of amusement?"

"You...might say that. Yes! Will you come? I'm going to ask Bones, too."

"Does Dr. McCoy consider camping _fun_, as well?"

"Of course! He's an old boy scout at heart."

"Indeed. In that case, I cannot pass up the opportunity to observe this ritual. I shall conclude my work here and join you."

Kirk chuckled as he shut the comm, thinking of how transparent Spock was to him after all these years. His face had remained in its usual stoic straightness, but the anticipatory smile was clearly evident in his eyes. The old phony. It would be interesting having him on a camping trip. And, he was sure, Spock would contribute several surprises to the adventure.

His thoughts were disturbed by the insistent shrillness of his private comm line. "Kirk here," he responded, opening visual.

Uhura's face filled the screen. He couldn't remember her ever looking so distraught. "Uhura! What's wrong?"

"Captain, last night I almost killed my husband."

"Your what?"

She swallowed hard and said, "I was listening to some whale song tapes last night when I heard my apartment door open. This guy walked in all smiles and made to grab me."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He's a bit worse for wear."

Jim unsuccessfully suppressed a smile.

"It's not funny, Captain. When he was able to talk, he said he was my husband."

"I didn't know you were married, Uhura."

"Neither did I, Captain, as you damn well know! Only it seems I am. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I might. Stand by, I'm going to call Spock."

A minute later, Jim's screen was split, Uhura one side, Spock on the other. The Vulcan raised a brow at Jim's strange expression, and, fighting a grin, Kirk explained, "Spock, Uhura's husband surprised her last night in their apartment."

"Fascinating, Captain. It seems our parameters are converging upon us."

"Mr. Spock! What the hell does that mean?" asked Uhura.

Spock briefly explained his research into the alteration of the time continuum. When he finished, she said, "Great! We save the world and wind up strangers in our own homes. Well, what are you two going to do about it?"

"Us?" asked Kirk innocently.

"Yes! You got us into this mess."

He looked up at Spock for help, but Spock said, "Correct, Commander. I bear some of the responsibility for this situation, since it was I who identified the nature of the probe's message."

"But I'm the one who suggested going back for the whales," said Kirk, realizing as he said it that Spock had maneuvered him into accepting the blame.

"Captain," complained Uhura, "how am I supposed to deal with a _husband_?"

"Spock," said Kirk, turning quickly to him. "What's your advice?"

"I suggest that we redouble our research efforts in order to determine the full extent of the time-space alterations."

Uhura glared at him. "Mr. Spock. You can take your research efforts and—"

"Uhura!" interrupted Kirk. "You said your uh...he...he was injured?"

"Yeah, he's in regen at Bay General."

"How long is he going to be there?"

"How should I know? I didn't stop to ask the transporter medics. I really don't care if he stays in that tank for good!"

Spock said to Kirk, "I have never observed the commander give vent to her emotions so strongly before. By human standards, does this situation warrant such a display of—"

"Listen, Spock!" interrupted Uhura. "You think this 'situation' is so damned interesting and scientific and 'fascinating'! Perhaps you shouldn't be so objective about it. Have you checked home on Vulcan? Maybe T'Pring is holding supper for you!"

Kirk's jaw dropped at her shocking intrusion on Vulcan privacy, but Spock merely responded, "That is illogical, commander. If in this time-space my betrothal to T'Pring did result in our marriage, it is highly unlikely that I would still be a Starfleet officer. And furthermore, Vulcan wives do not 'hold supper' for their husbands."

"Go to hell, Mr. Spock," said Uhura with a murderous look.

When Kirk could catch his breath, he said, "Uh, Spock, why don't you get on those calculations?"

When Uhura once again filled the whole screen, he continued, "Listen, I'll go see this guy when he gets out of regen, and I'll explain it all to him. Spock is working on this, and he's never failed us yet. Let's give him a chance, okay?"

Some of the bluster went out of her, and she answered, "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"No," he said apologetically, "I guess you don't."

When she'd cut the connection, he muttered aloud, "Go to hell, Mr. Spock? T'Pring holding supper? And Bones missed it!"

* * *

Scotty's face positively glowed, and his eyes were radiant. Anyone could tell he was in love. It was the object of his adoration that was harder to understand. There in the middle of the Hangar Deck on the _Enterprise_ was a shuttle which must have been long in service when Scotty was still in diapers. Its much-dented, somewhat-corroded hull accurately reflected its venerable age, and the odd concatenation of weldings- and boltings-on implied a considerable gap between the specifications of its original design and the replacement parts it had come to acquire. Chekov and Sulu were not doing a good job of hiding their amazement at the focus of Scotty's attention, or their bewilderment of why he had excitedly called them to the hangar.

Sulu cleared his throat. "Uh, Scott? Where'd you get this...uh...this?"

"Ain't she a bonnie lass?" he replied dreamily.

"I have never seen a wessel of dis age before," Chekov said tactfully.

"Aye, the truth, man! There be not many of them still in service."

"Is this one?" asked Sulu, and Chekov shot him a cautionary look.

Scotty didn't notice. "Aye, lad. She's a wee bit in need of a facelift, but her components are solid. They dinna make 'em like this any more!"

"Thank goodness," muttered Sulu to Chekov, then he asked, "Is she yours?"

"Aye!" came the proud reply. "I was the highest bidder."

"Dat shouldn't have been hard," whispered Chekov to his companion.

"Aye," said Scotty to no one in particular, "soon she'll be in fine trim!" He shook his head, breaking from his reverie. "But now there's other work to be done. Lads, we canna just stand around admirin' the lassie! We've got to get this bucket of short circuits and design flaws into something worthy of her name before the captain needs her! Sulu, have you finished repairing the navigational circuits?"

Sulu had to shout his answer, since Scotty was halfway across the hangar, yelling orders at some technician. He turned to Chekov, and they both began to laugh.

* * *

After Kirk called McCoy and got his eager acceptance of the invitation, he contacted Yosemite and got a clearance pass. By then he was feeling so good he decided to go sailing. Yes, an afternoon on the _Edith Keeler_ was just the thing he needed.

Only it wasn't. The thrill of salt and surf were usually enough to purge his momentary melancholy every time he saw the boat's name painted on the hull, but today he kept finding himself wrestling with time paradoxes, and in the end he cut his sail short and was back in his apartment before dusk. He didn't activate the lights and was sitting watching night fall over the bay, sipping a drink, when he glanced at the picture of Gillian. He thought of her authority, self-confidence, and her dedication to her work. _So dedicated, she couldn't even give you a decent kiss_, he thought sadly. He reached for the comm unit. Then he remembered—he didn't even have her comm number. Well, that was really no problem for a Starfleet captain...

A week in the future hadn't dimmed the glow in her eyes. "Captain Kirk!" she cried.

Well, at least she seemed happy to seem him. She raised her brows expectantly while he tried to think of something to say. "Uh, how're George and Gracie doing?"

Her face lit up with excitement. "Just great! They're about a thousand kilometers off the Alaskan coast, in the open sea, the same as when..." Her eyes dulled for a moment, as if the monumental weight of all that had happened recently finally impressed itself on her, but then the gleam returned, and she said excitedly, "Tomorrow I go aboard a research ship. We're going to monitor George and Gracie closely. You wouldn't understand how magical the available technology seems to me! Sometimes I just can't believe I'm really here, that it's not just some crazy dream."

"Dream, Gillian, or nightmare?"

"No, Captain! Not at all!"

"Call me Jim."

She hesitated, then her face relaxed into a small but warm smile. "Sure, Jim."

He realized he was just smiling stupidly back at her and shook himself. "Uh, Gillian, uh, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner...I mean with me."

"Uh...Jim...I'm really swamped. You wouldn't believe what it's been like! There are always a room full of historians begging for an interview, and then when they're done, a horde of biologists want to see me to discuss cetaceans in general, and George and Gracie in specific."

"You're a celebrity," he said with a smile.

"Hardly, but I am an anomaly. Anyway, I'm so behind on my labwork! It took me two days just to assimilate this wonderful equipment. I never dreamed half these machines could exist! Do you know a friend of mine spent six years on her dissertation doing something one of these machines can do in fifteen minutes? It's amazing!"

"Sounds like you need a break to me, a chance to relax," he tried, grinning.

She hesitated, then, "Well, I was going to read some reports, then I might have a free hour or so..."

"Hour's plenty for dinner. Are we on, then?"

She smiled naughtily. "Italian, Jim?"

He laughed, "Sure, why not? Outside your lab in a half hour?"

"Make it an hour. Be on time."

"I'll bring Spock to keep me to the nanosecond."

Her face tightened for a moment then broke into a grin. "I'll trust your accuracy, captain."

"Very well, doctor."

She broke the connection.

When he arrived, she was still wearing her labcoat, which she shucked and threw over her shoulder. As they fell into step together she asked, "So, where are we going?"

"Mama Fratelli's. You'll love it."

She broke stride and made a face. "You're kidding."

"Hey," he said, raising his hands in protest, "you converted me. When I got back the first thing I did is look up an Italian restaurant."

She still wasn't walking. "Bull," she laughed. "You probably searched one out when you hung up after talking to me."

"Hung up? Oh, you mean switched off. Well, I cannot tell a lie. You're right. And I don't guarantee the place. The ad said Mama Fratelli is a native Italian and her specialty is authentic _vrotlik parmigiana_."

"Vrotlik? What the hell is that?"

Kirk fought back a grin. "It's a shellfish native to...Rigel IX."

"Oh, great!" Gillian choked out, laughing, "I can't wait to see this authentic old Italian restaurant!"

The vrotlik was wonderful, if inauthentic, and Mama Fratelli's accent was more Outer Sagittarian than Italian, but the food was delicious, the wine was smooth, and the conversation light and relaxing. Just as Kirk had promised. And he got her back to the lab in just a little over an hour, as he had also promised. This time he got a decent kiss, albeit just a friendly one.

When Kirk got back to his apartment, his comm was flashing a message. It was from McCoy, who wanted to know when they were leaving. He was already packed. Kirk smiled. Bones must really need a vacation.

* * *

Over the next two days, Gillian spent almost thirty hours making observations of George and Gracie as they swam across the Pacific. She could not get over her amazement at the sensors in the shuttlecraft the skipper of her research vessel signed out to her. From ten meters above the surface of the ocean, she was able to record more physiological data than she would have been able to get with direct-contact measurements in her own time. By the end of the second day, she was exhausted but ecstatic. She was, in fact, too excited to go to sleep so after she grabbed a quick supper, she headed over to the lab to work on the data she had collected.

She sat down at her desk and reached for the computer keyboard, then stopped herself and chuckled. "Computer," she called out with an excited grin.

"Working."

"Integrate new physiological data on George and Gracie with current files. Cross reference for basal metabolism rates under..."

Before she could say anything else, the door chimed.

"Who's there?" she called out, proud that she remembered that the computer would patch her in to the door intercom.

"Nyota Uhura," came the response.

Gillian jumped up excitedly and opened the door.

Uhura was laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Gillian.

"I requisitioned a solo shuttle to come out here to cheer you up in case you were getting lonely, but your face is enough to cheer up a Vulcan!"

Gillian laughed, "Lonely? Nyota, it's so exciting! There's so much to learn, I'm sure I haven't assimilated a tenth of it yet! But do come in, have a seat. It's so good to see you again."

"Well, I just couldn't wait to bring you this chip with my preliminary findings. I've been running the tapes you gave me through the linguistic computer on board the _Enterprise_. I can't say anything definite yet, but it looks like we might be able to talk to the whales pretty soon."

"That's fantastic! I can't believe you've done so much in such a short time. I've been working with whalesong for years!"

Uhura laughed. "But not with the _Enterprise_'s computer! We have the advantage of data on thousands of communications systems in addition to the several hundred human, Vulcan, Klingon, Romulan, Andorian, and Tellarite languages."

"Boy, I wonder if I could get a chance to use that computer."

"You'd have to ask Captain Kirk that. Have you seen him recently?" asked Uhura.

Gillian bit her lip and turned to adjust a stack of printouts. "I had dinner with him a couple nights ago," she said softly.

"Oh?" asked Uhura, her tone saying the rest.

Gillian spun back to face her. "It's nothing like that! He just bought me dinner to get me out of the lab for a little while. I needed a break."

"I'm sure you did," Uhura said, grinning.

"Nyota, you're impossible!" laughed Gillian. "Jim and I are just friends."

"Jim?"

"Will, you cut it out! Look, are you interested in this whalesong business or not?"

Uhura smiled one last teasing look. "Okay, okay. Look, tell me what you think of what's in that chip. I've got to run. Scotty's been slaving over the _Enterprise_, and if I know him, he hasn't stopped to sleep or eat."

Gillian laughed. "That sounds like Mr. Scott. Doesn't he ever take a break?"

"Well, the one time all his crews were working to his satisfaction, instead of resting he went down to the Hangar Deck to work on that jalopy of his that he's always cajoling people into inspecting."

"Jalopy?"

"His shuttle. It's an ancient wreck, if you ask me, and the captain says it's a piece of junk, but I think he's prejudiced."

"Why's that?" laughed Gillian.

"Because the computer Scotty put into it is always getting the captain's name wrong. Called him 'Captain Quirk' once!"

"I'll have to see that!"

"Don't worry. If you ever get near it, Scotty'll give you the grand tour. And who knows, that computer might take a liking to you. I think it's partial to women. It was very flattering to me."

"Really?"

"Well, it told me I was the smartest blonde it had ever met."

"Blonde?" choked Gillian.

"Well," Uhura laughed, "Scotty was afraid to put a vidlink into it. It's bossy enough without being able to see everything you're doing."

"Sounds like an interesting computer."

"That it is, but not enough to keep Scotty from overworking, so I think I'll go grab some dinner and take it to him. And you better take it easy too. You've got three hundred years to catch up on, you can't do it in a week or two."

Gillian saw her to the door, then she spun slowly around, her eye falling on eachpiece of lab equipment in turn. Three hundred years. It was going to take a while, but she was going to make every minute count. She'd been given a second life, and she wasn't going to waste it!

_Please review! Accepts unregistered reviews._


	2. Chapter 2

Lt. Commander Zabrowlski punched two more keys, and his frown got deeper. Still not satisfied, he ran the program one more time. His hands twitched as he waited for the computer to make the trillion or so checks he'd asked it to. Things like this don't happen in Command Security, at least not on his watch. Not a demerit to his record, and promotion just down the road, he couldn't botch it now!

Again the computer flashed the same response. There was no doubt—someone had broken the Omni Ten's security program. Without taking his eyes off the disheartening screen, he signaled the top office.

"Admiral Shrildev's office," came the voice, and Zabrowlski turned to see the ensign on the screen.

"Mr. Perez, I must speak to the admiral immediately."

Perez hesitated. "Sir, protocol requires your requests to be channeled through your immediate superior. If you like..."

"Damn it, Ensign! This is a class fourteen emergency."

Perez' face showed his confusion. "Uh, class four..."

"Fourteen, Ensign! And if you don't put me through right now, you'll be swabbing the head on some cargo cruiser!"

"One moment, sir," said the frightened aide, and the screen went blank.

A few seconds later it brightened with the Admiral's blue face almost filling it. Her antennae were at a tilt Zabrowlski wasn't used to—amusement or just focusing on him? She effected a fairly human smile and said, "Commander, just what _is_ a class fourteen emergency?"

Zabrowlski smiled sheepishly. "It's something to get past your aide as quickly as possible with something important."

"Since it is obviously too important to go through normal channels, I assume you have discovered a dangerous security breech."

His smile evaporated as he got to his task. "Affirmative, Admiral. There's been a break in the main and secondary security protocols."

The Andorian's antennae jerked in surprise. "From an officer of your record I do not have to ask for confirmation, as I'm sure you've made every check. Do you have a fix on the break?"

"Negative, sir. The computer is working on it now. I thought you should know right away."

"Very well, Commander. How much data was breached?"

"That's the strange thing about it, sir. No data was accessed."

Again the antennae twitched. "Explain."

"As far as I can determine, the Omni was used for some complex multi-parallel synchronic calculations."

The admiral's eyes scanned to the side, as Zabrowlski was used to when she was thinking hard about something. A moment later she said, "Do you have any of the computations?"

"Negative, sir. Whoever did this used our own security protocols to cover his tracks. I did recover one fragment of an entry only because the spy was unaware of the subprogram which pulls out the names of any known criminals when they appear in any computation."

"And?"

"I'm afraid this only gets stranger, sir. The data contain a list titled 'Convicted Felons, UFP' for part of this year." He paused and consulted the terminal, even though he knew what was written there by heart. "The problem is that only 47 of the names listed there correlate with memory banks as being convicted felons, and 31 of the remaining names are not in the banks anywhere, including the latest UFP census figures."

In his pause she said, "Analysis Mr. Zabrowlski?"

"I'm afraid I have none. I have to do a cryptanalysis on one other fragment—it appears to be the password the spy used to enter the files. Obviously he was also unaware that all passwords are triply saved."

"But why the cryptanalysis? Do you think the password is a code?"

"Negative. I simply can't read it."

"Patch it over," she said, turning toward her desk terminal.

Within seconds Zabrowlski heard the bell-like chime that he recognized as Andorian laughter, and the admiral turned back to face him. "It's Vulcan, Commander," she said, smiling.

"Vulcan! It must be a Romulan using Vulcan to throw us off!"

The admiral's smile broadened and she shook her head. "Negative, Commander. If my rusty Vulcan can be counted on, the password means something like 'What took you so long?', and it's Captain Spock's signature, plain as day."

Spock! Jim Kirk's Vulcan sidekick? Zabrowlski was confused and said so. The admiral explained, "Mr. Spock must have had some calculations he needed the Omni for. I know he has clearance to use the H'Gal on Vulcan, so he must have decided to create Omni clearance for himself."

Zabrowlski stiffened in his chair. "Should I issue an arrest warrant, sir?"

"Negative," laughed Shrildev. "First of all, he's off on that emergency mission to Nimbus III, and secondly, I'm sure he has the program to plug the leak he found, all ready for us to implement. It won't be the first time his computing skills have saved us from embarrassment and danger."

The Andorian tilted her antennae forward and asked, "Problem, Commander?"

"No, sir." His tone belied his words.

The admiral allowed a tiny smile and said, "You're upset that I appear to be letting a criminal off the hook aren't you?"

"Sir," began the security chief brusquely, then he warmed to her informal mode and said calmly, "Sir, breaking computer security comes under the espionage statutes."

The smile vanished. "Affirmative, Commander. But how often is Starfleet computer security breached?"

Confused at this tack, he answered, "Uh, well, there was the Farnow case a few years back, and there's the rumor of a leak in Weapons research, but..."

"And how often," interrupted Shrildev, "have our agents broken Klingon or Romulan computer securities?"

"Quite often," he replied with a touch of patriotic pride.

"Do you know why, Commander?" She didn't give him time to answer. "It's because of the unfair advantage we have in having the best computer experts in the known universe on our side."

"Vulcans," muttered Zabrowlski, finally seeing where she was headed.

"Affirmative, Commander. And much of our current computer security is based on modifications of the original programs, which in turn resulted from Captain Spock's testing them."

"You mean," he asked hesitantly, "that he tries to break our security codes and then tell us how to plug the leaks?"

"Precisely. Now, go issue a summons for Captain Spock."

"But you just said..."

"I said there's no reason to arrest the man. We obviously need to talk to him about his computations. If only half the felons on his list correlate with memory, something strange is going on. I'll contact Admiral Morrow and arrange a briefing. Have Spock report to him upon his return."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Gillian's face was one big grin as Ron Fairbanks, who had been assigned to help her in the lab, explained the machinery she had been unable to figure out for herself. "And this, sir, is the mass spectrometer. It..."

"I know what it is. We had them, too. But not," she laughed, "the size of a deck of cards."

"Sorry, sir. I wish I was better at the history of science."

"Nonsense," she replied, "and can you please stop calling me 'sir'? It's hard enough for me to get used to being head cetacean biologist of the fleet without that. And anyway, in my time, they didn't address women in charge with 'sir'."

"No?" asked the young man incredulously. "What did they call them?"

She hesitated, her brow furrowed. "Well, there weren't that many, and things weren't worked out yet." She smiled. "'Sir' is a good solution, I think. But not for me here. 'Gillian' is fine."

Ron considered for a moment, then grinned and said, "Sure, Gillian. But officially you're 'Dr. Taylor.' I'm getting field credit toward my degree for this, and my university is fussy about things like that."

She'd taken an instant liking to this clever, good-natured young man, and she smiled warmly at him and asked, "What university is that?"

"U-Terr-Alpha-Mix," he answered proudly.

"You tear alpha mix?" she mimicked.

"The University of Terrestrial Sciences, at Alpha Mix," he laughed. "You know, Mixoloxi, on Camerron, third planet, Alpha Cenatuari?"

"Oh!" she drawled, slapping the side of her head. "_That_ Alpha Mix!"

He blushed, then said, "Sorry again. You see, there's a Mixoloxi on Butta, in the Vegulon system, so they're called Alpha Mix and Veg Mix."

"And Mixoloxi?"

"Benjamin Mixoloxi, a great Farithian general. He died in the war with the Romulans. He was born on Camerron, but he married a Vegulonite and lived on Butta, so they both claimed him."

"Ron," she said, shaking her head, "there is so much for me to catch up on, I'm not sure I can do it."

"Listen, Gillian, you have to remember this goes both ways. You're missing a lot of history, but you're a walking museum! You've worked with animals we've never observed alive! Old books and tapes are great, but you have first-hand knowledge. You have more to teach than to learn."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far."

"Well, you should. After all, look who's in charge here...Sir."

She laughed, then said, "Since I'm in charge here, let's get to work!" Ron picked up a chip of data from the previous day's observations and popped in into the computer. Gillian turned to look at the monitor, which was filling with multi-colored graphs of parameters she hadn't even known of when she'd impulsively leaped onto Jim Kirk's neck...three hundred years ago. She grinned. Boy, was she ever going to enjoy this!

* * *

"Standard docking approach, Mr. Sulu," said Kirk, glad to be able to put the whole Sybok affair behind him and resume his camping trip.

"Docking in two minutes, mark!"

"Captain!" called Uhura. "Priority message for Mr. Spock."

"Can't they wait until we get there?" complained Kirk. "All right, patch it through to Mr. Spock's station."

"Commander," said Spock quickly, "Put it on audio. It is likely that this concerns all of us."

McCoy laughed. "Now what have you gotten us into, Spock?"

The voice came from the speakers, "Captain Spock, you are requested to report to Admiral Morrow's office immediately upon docking. Confirm, please."

Kirk noticed the familiar dancing behind Spock's eyes which he had long ago learned to interpret as devious laughter. The Vulcan replied, "Affirmative. Tell Admiral Morrow I shall be there presently...and tell him that Security is to be commended on their efficiency."

"What the hell was that about?" demanded McCoy, but before he could answer, the speakers were alive again with welcome and instructions from Spacedock. The ship was berthed, and it was several minutes before Kirk could dismiss the rest of the bridge crew and the three of them were alone so the doctor could repeat his question.

"Obviously, Security has discovered my use of the Omni Ten, and..."

McCoy gasped, "You used the Omni Ten?"

"No, Bones," laughed Kirk. "He simply discovered a flaw in the Omni security programs and has kindly figured out how to plug the leak."

"I see," McCoy said scowling. "What were you doing, picking the winners of the Rigellian ymo races?"

Spock raised a brow and said tersely, "Doctor, one does not need the computing power of the Omni Ten to compute the probability schedules of such fraudulent activities."

"So what were you doing with it?" McCoy asked.

Kirk and Spock exchanged glances. "Go ahead, tell him, Spock."

"It may be unwise to involve the doctor, Jim. We have no way of knowing how intervoluted the disruptions in the time continuum might be, or how each of us may affect them."

"What disruptions?" shouted McCoy. "Have you two been playing around with..."

"No, Bones. We've just been worried about our tampering with the past."

"You mean that our bringing back those two fish has changed history?"

Jim was almost sure he saw Spock roll his eyes. The Vulcan said, "Doctor, I trust that your medical knowledge exceeds the oversimplified understanding you have both of marine biology and of quantum time manipulation."

Kirk stepped between them and appealed, "Gentlemen, gentlemen! There is no need for insults."

"Insults?" asked Spock innocently. "I was merely pointing out..."

"The only thing pointing on you is those blasted ears, and if you'd use them for a change you'd know that..."

"Doctor! Mr. Spock!" Kirk had to fight back a grin. "Enough! Now, Bones, Spock has uncovered some...anomalies since we returned from the Twentieth Century, and he is concerned about possible effects of our visit to the past."

"And how does the Omni fit into all of this?"

Spock answered. "I used a new program developed by T'Laq to correlate various alternate temporal projections from the locus of our removal of the two...marine mammals...and Dr. Taylor from the Twentieth Century." As he continued his report, McCoy's face became grim.

Jim added hopefully, "But we don't know for sure what we have a problem. And, even if we do, saving the Earth in this century may just be worth whatever changes bringing three individuals forward in time might have caused."

"I'm afraid there's even more of a problem than you're aware of." McCoy said sadly.

"Explain," urged Kirk.

"Well, Scotty and I...well, we needed that acrylic to build the whale tank..." He paused and looked at both of them.

Spock said, "I did wonder how you were able to obtain such a mass of polymeric material with no medium of exchange."

"That's just it," McCoy answered, "we did have something to exchange." He pulled a face and swallowed hard. "Scotty gave the manager at the plant the formula for transparent aluminum."

"You're kidding," groaned Kirk, then he looked to Spock for counsel, but the Vulcan was already bent over the computer console.

"Fascinating," he said after a moment. "Library reports that transparent aluminum was invented in the mid 1990's by a Marcus Nichols of San Francisco, who never revealed the research that led up to his discovery."

"Scotty said maybe he was the one who came up with it," McCoy said hopefully.

"Only he wasn't," replied Spock, "or, at least he wasn't in history as we know it." The other two waited for the facts they knew would come. "Transparent aluminum was first theorized in 2020 by a brilliant, young, first-generation lunar physicist, Nguyen Lefkowitz. The first industrial production took place in the Old Brazilian Lunadome several years later. I just checked the computer, and in_this_ time-space, Nguyen Lefkowitz was fired by Lunar Metals, Inc. In 2019."

"Wait a minute!" McCoy protested. "How can that be? I mean, how can you remember one thing, and the computer another? Why doesn't everyone remember the way it was?"

"Because it wasn't," answered Spock with strained patience. "For everyone here, history is what the computer records. We were in the past when the change occurred, and we brought our version of the present with us, including what had been history. Until we changed it."

"Okay," said Kirk, grabbing hopefully, "so what if someone else discovered transparent aluminum? None of your projections showed any problems with that, did they?"

The Vulcan turned a somber face on the captain. "Jim, in our history, Nguyen Lefkowitz went on to become the head of a huge manufacturing empire, which his granddaughter consolidated as the Outer System Mining and Manufacturing Concern."

That name clicked in both McCoy and Kirk's minds. OSM&MC had been a pioneer in mining the solar system asteroids, and much of the colonization of Mars had taken place at their funding and support. After another consultation of the computer, Spock added, "A mind as keen as Lefkowitz's wouldn't sit idle, I so I just ran a profile on him. He underwent rehabilitative bioengineering and emigrated to Earth from the Moon. He soon was head of the United Nations One Planet Board."

"What's that?" they asked in unison.

Spock checked the console once more. "It became the most powerful governing body on Earth, and its efforts and legislation prevented the Eugenics Wars." Before either could respond, Spock said, "I neglected to tell you before we left for Nimbus III that in my research of historical records I turned up a reference to a felony conviction earlier this year. The prosecuting attorney was Starfleet Col. Khan Noonian Singh."

"Impossible!" cried McCoy. "It has to be a spooky coincidence, that's all. Look, Spock, either the Wars were prevented or they weren't. If they never happened then Khan wouldn't have been in the _Botany Bay_, and he wouldn't have been revived, and he wouldn't have..."

"Doctor," Spock said calmly, "While you were offering your...analysis of the situation, I took the liberty of researching it. He was, or is, actually, a product of early Twenty-first Century eugenic experimentation, the leader of a group fired into space in an early cryoship in a desperate attempt by mankind to preserve the species in case the then-current wave of genetically engineered plagues wiped out the species on its home planet. The starship _Omega_, captained by Elsbet McCurdy, revived most of the group eleven years ago, and Khan entered the Academy. He achieved commission and his law degree simultaneously two years later. He made colonel four years ago."

McCoy glared at him, but Jim replied, "Spock, so what's wrong?"

"Wrong, Captain?"

"Yes! So the Eugenics Wars never happened—good riddance! And so Khan is in Starfleet. I always thought it was such a waste that he wasn't on our side. Where's the problem? Let's just leave things alone."

Before Spock could answer, Jim shouted, "David! Spock, if Khan is on our side, there wasn't any Genesis Planet! And no Klingons chasing the Genesis device. David is still alive!"

The Vulcan turned his eyes, then glanced back. "Jim. I've already checked the records. Carol Marcus never had a child. There is no record of David Marcus in this time-space."

"But, Spock!"

"That's not all, Jim," said Spock, consulting his terminal, though both of his companions were certain he had the information memorized. "There_was_ a Genesis Planet, created when one of Dr. Marcus' experiments went awry. Kruge did come to steal the secret of the Genesis device, and when Admiral. James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_ engaged him in combat, one of the Klingon's shots damaged the_Enterprise_'s warp engines, and...I was forced to enter the radioactive reactor chamber. You were able to disable Kruge's ship, but he escaped. You met him again at the Genesis Planet when you...appropriated the decommissioned _Enterprise_ to recover my...remains, which had undergone an unusual transformation." He looked back at Kirk. "The rest you can infer."

Kirk furrowed his brow. "Then it all happened anyway. Your death, the theft of the _Enterprise_, our trip back to Vulcan in the Bird of Prey..."

McCoy interrupted, "That doesn't make any damned sense!"

"Sense, Doctor?" queried Spock. "We know that the time continuum can only be pushed to a small degree. It reforms around any alterations so that its preponderance remains the same."

Kirk responded, "But then everything is all right! The few changes which occurred can't alter the bulk of the continuum!"

"Unfortunately that is only true for the continuum considered in its entirety. Any one stream within it can be significantly altered, with lasting effects. As we have been discovering."

"Bones is right! There is no sense to it. David never existed, Uhura's got a husband...whole worlds vanish!"

Spock stared at him, and Kirk was sure he saw his eyes soften before he answered quietly, "Jim, I'm sure I don't have to point out to you the cruel paradoxes of time displacement."

"You mean," he answered almost inaudibly, "wherein preventing one catastrophe can lead to other tragedies."

Suddenly Jim heard the screeching of ancient car brakes, and he felt McCoy's frantic writhing as he held him back, but he shook himself loose from the memory and argued, "But this time, this time is there anything other than a personal loss?"

Spock suggested, his voice still low, "Whole planets not in the Federation? Entire systems not colonized? Billions of people who don't exist?"

"But you also said others are in the Federation, and others are colonized. Billions of _different_ people exist, Spock!"

"Jim, logically we cannot assess the situation until we have checked as many parameters as we can. On this voyage I was able to complete a check of two hundred sixty-seven thousand four hundred fifty-seven, and I am finding more and more differences all the time between what we remember and what current history is."

A call to the bridge from Uhura in Spacedock interrupted, "Mr. Spock, a security detail is here to escort you to Admiral Morrow's office, only they claim to be an honor guard. What have you been up to, sir?"

Kirk thumbed the intercom. "Tell them James T. Kirk will escort Mr. Spock. And wait there for us, Uhura, and get Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov, too. You're in this with the rest of us."

They heard her address the security detail, "I never met the man, actually," but a moment later her laughing voice replied, "Affirmative, Captain," and the connection broke.

Spock and Kirk moved toward the lift, but they turned to face McCoy when he remained where he was. "Bones?" coaxed Jim.

"I...I'm afraid it's even worse than you think."

"That'll take some convincing," Kirk tried to joke.

"Well, back in Mercy Hospital, when we were looking for Chekov? I medicated a woman."

Kirk said slowly, "You mean, you medicated someone who would not have been treatable by the doctors of that time."

McCoy just nodded, but Spock said, "Captain, although any single tampering of the continuum can be disastrous, each additional instance affects the outcome geometrically."

McCoy looked up. "You mean that the result of everything we did is greater than the sum of all the individual changes?"

"Exactly, Doctor. And you take too much blame upon yourself," said Spock. Jim gave a weak smile at this show of compassion. "All of us had multiple impacts on that time, much of which we are necessarily unaware of."

Kirk nodded agreement, and the three of them entered the lift in silence.

* * *

The biochem lab aboard the science ship _Hawking_ throbbed gently with the low-frequency hum of the centrifuges which were processing Gillian's samples. It didn't rock with the waves, however, due to the inertial dampening system, which was standard for all naval vessels, and Gillian missed the oneness with the sea that she'd always felt when shipboard. She was slumped over a console, her eyelids barely open, but she literally jumped to attention when the computer's klaxon sounded. Her lab assistant ran for the control board and began touching controls while she tried to make sense of the flashing red messages on the terminal screen. Ron called over, "It's in the protonucleic series! I programmed it to alert us to any variances from the values we he had in the files. What do you make of it?"

Gillian stared at the undulating graphs. There was a definite rise in two parameters, and a disturbing dip in a third. _What do I make of it?_ she asked herself silently. _Where I come from, mitochondrial studies were just starting, and here they have software to analyze functions we didn't even imagine._ She glanced over at the young man. He was waiting for her learned advice. "Uh, I...don't like the look of that E3 line."

"Neither do I," replied Ron, frowning. "It almost matches the graph of Barney."

"Barney?" questioned Gillian, looking up again from the screen.

"Yeah," laughed Ron. "Sorry, I forgot. He was the last Humpback. Died in captivity in 2108."

"What'd he die of?" she asked, her concern overcoming her discomfort over once again having to learn the history of a century in the future.

"That's the thing," the student explained, turning off the fourth centrifuge and punching for a printout. "Everyone thought they'd saved the Humpbacks with their captive breeding program, but one by one they started to fail. They turned two of them loose, but they both died shortly after. They tried everything on Barney, but he kept on declining until he went, too."

While he was talking, she'd called up on Barney's file and was perusing the graphs. "Look here!" She cried, pointing to a strongly undulating line. "The E5 and K7 series both match George and Gracie's, if you extrapolate six months at current figures."

Ron leaned over her shoulder and snorted. "The E6 doesn't look far off, either. Computer, compare the 6-line, Barney with George and Gracie."

"Working...Complete match in twenty-one weeks at current rates."

Gillian turned and said, "They're dying, Ron! We hauled them here in that Klingon rustbucket just to have 'em die!"

"Hang on!" he answered, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Just because a few parameters match up doesn't mean they're dying. Maybe these are normal fluctuations. Nobody ever successfully correlated the protonucleic changes with cause of death."

"Then it's up to us to figure out what's going on!" she said, turning back to the terminal. "Computer, run full spectral analysis, E and K series. And print."

Moments later the printout began racing from the slot, and Gillian and Ron grabbed it eagerly.

* * *

At their meeting with the admiral, Kirk explained his concerns, and Spock supplied ample data to infuse concern in the others. When he explained the significance of the remnant Zabrowlski had found in the computer, Admiral Morrow gave top priority to an analysis of the differences between history as he knew it and history as the whale rescuers remembered it. All of the _Bounty_'s crew were uneasy with his announcement that any decision made by Starfleet would be based on an analysis of the net gain or loss this interference with the time continuum had caused. Captain Kirk actually voiced their collective concern, "Net gain or loss? By what standard? What's best for Starfleet?"

"What other standard can we use, Captain?" answered Morrow.

"I can think of several, Admiral," he'd replied testily.

"Look," Morrow said, trying to defuse the situation, "We'll have more to discuss when we have the facts. I'll have my secretary make an appointment for early next week, a whole morning. Meanwhile, I'll get a nutshell history of the last three centuries written up, and you six get some R&R. You and your memories will be the most use to us if you're well rested. No decisions will be made until we know exactly what we're up against here. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads somberly.

"Okay. Dismissed."

None of them were in any mood to continue hashing over the maybes and might-have-beens, and Uhura said, "Well, no matter what has happened to the time continuum, Gillian is still here, and despite all her enthusiasm, she's still bound to be homesick. I'm going to go check on her. Anyone want to come?"

Jim moved to speak, checked himself, then said, "Good idea, Uhura. Give us a call if you think we could help cheer her up. Mr. Spock? Bones? I seem to remember an interrupted camping trip. Our park pass is still good. Shall we get our gear and beam on over?"

"Great idea!" chimed in McCoy, glad to have something cheerful to think about.

"I have my calculations to..." started Spock, but Jim held up a hand and said, "Negative, Mr. Spock. This is a matter of the highest security, and Admiral Morrow told us to wait until we had his report, and then we were to work together with him. He warned us against any more private analysis." He smiled self-satisfiedly.

"Captain," Spock said patronizingly, "I still have my projections to run. The admiral agreed that they would be useful data for our joint analysis next week."

"Ahah!" exclaimed Kirk. "You just said it yourself! Next week. Now, honestly, how long will those projections take?"

"Impossible to say, Captain. There are infinite projections, so the time required is also infinite. My task is one of selecting which projections to run."

"But you face a situation of diminishing returns, certainly."

Spock's face, long not inscrutable to Jim Kirk, showed he was following Jim's line of argument to its logical conclusion, but Spock would not give up ahead of time. He replied, "Of course. But probably not until the third order of magnitude at the earliest."

"Very well," said Kirk, assuming a feigned posture of defeat. "And how long will it take you to select, say, four orders of magnitude of parameter projections?"

Spock hesitated. "Eighteen point three hours to select and preprogram them."

Kirk's face broke into a gigantic grin. "We'll expect you at our campsite tomorrow afternoon. Bones, come. We've got to go shopping."

"Shopping?" asked McCoy, moving in next to him as he strode away.

"Yes," he answered, sure that the Vulcan ears could still pick up their conversation, "for marshmellons."

* * *

The voluminous analysis offered little help, and by the time Ron fell asleep on the floor, where he'd stretched out the meters of computer-generated graphs, Gillian was succumbing to both exhaustion and despair. She didn't hear anyone come in, so she jumped right out of her seat when Uhura touched her shoulder.

"Nyota! You gave me a heart attack! I thought you were off on that emergency rescue mission."

"Just got back. We saved the galaxy, as usual. Didn't you hear the news?"

"Uhn uhn. We've been pretty busy. So everything worked out?"

Uhura frowned slightly. She knew Gillian was simply asking about the release of the hostages. She didn't even know about Sybok's hijacking the _Enterprise_ and their trip to Eden... but as she looked at her tired, excited friend from the past, Uhura couldn't help thinking of a lot more. Even if they hadn't been warned not to discuss this precarious situation with anyone, she never would have been able to add the burden of the problem on Gillian, the person who both most affected and was affected by it. She forced a smile and understated, "Sure. Say, you really jumped. Were you asleep?"

"No, or maybe. I don't think I can tell anymore."

Uhura grinned. "If you don't quit working so hard, you're going to fall behind, not get ahead."

"You don't understand," complained Gillian, waking up now that she had a new focus. "It's George and Gracie—they're dying!"

"What?"

"Well, we can't be sure, but it's just like Barney."

Uhura tilted her head. "Look, honey, you've been working too hard. Why don't you just go home and..."

Gillian interrupted and filled her in on what she and Ron had discovered, and Uhura listened quietly to the story, but when Gillian was done, she helped her up from the chair and said, "You're not going to do anyone any good if you don't get some sleep, especially not George and Gracie. I'm taking you to your bunk." She paused and looked over her shoulder at the prone young man. "Is he all right like that?"

Gillian laughed, "I don't think he'll wake up until late tomorrow."

* * *

Ever since Spock beamed down to the campsite in Yosemite just before dusk, the three of them had been trying to act relaxed, trying to pretend that the fate of the galaxy didn't hang in the balance, with their shoulders carrying most of the weight. It wasn't working, of course, and finally McCoy couldn't take it anymore. "Listen, you guys," he said, pulling out a craft phaser and aiming it at the pile of wood Kirk had just finished arranging.

"Hey!" Jim shouted, grabbing his wrist. "What do you think you're doing? I didn't spend all that time on the fire to have you light it with a phaser!"

"Why not?" grumbled McCoy, pocketing the tool.

Spock looked up from the designs he was drawing in the dirt with a twig. "Doctor, the captain is attempting to nourish his neolithic tendencies with these allegedly minimum technology feats he has been performing."

McCoy shot Spock a strange look. "You mean like climbing _El Capitán_ with his bare hands and feet?"

Spock nodded, and Jim protested. "Hey, I was wearing boots!"

"And so was Spock, thank the stars!" McCoy retorted.

Jim allowed, "Okay, sometimes technology can be useful."

McCoy grinned and reached for his pocket, but before he could withdraw the phaser, Spock had gotten up and was leaning over the wood. After a moment he selected a slender stick from the pile and laid it against one of the rocks edging the firesite. Applying his Vulcan strength, he drew the shard of wood quickly across the stone. As the tip passed the edge, it burst into flame from the extreme heat of friction. He handed it to Kirk, who stared dumbly for a second, then touched the flame to a few strategic spots in his tinder arrangement.

"You'd have made a hell of an Indian, Spock," said Kirk, casting a grin at McCoy, who scowled and rolled his eyes.

Jim laughed and said, "You were about to say something, Bones?"

"I was about to say that we aren't going to have one bit of fun on this too-short vacation if we don't ask Spock about his computations so we can all just forget 'em for a couple of days."

"A useful prescription, Doctor," he answered, turning to Spock.

"The Omni Ten is running the projections and will finish in twenty-one point seven three hours."

"Phew!" whistled McCoy. "And who's footing the bill for a day of Omni Ten?"

Spock glanced at McCoy as if at a minor annoyance. "Starfleet security has an open account with the Omni Ten," he answered, then said noticeably to Kirk alone, "I believe that those data will give us a good idea of the choices from this point, but our memories will have to be the major factor in deciding if we should allow this version of the continuum to continue to unfold or not."

"Correction," said Jim, "_your_ memory, Spock."

The Vulcan shook his head. "Negative. There are many places where my greater memory capacity will prove valuable, but..." Here he looked over to include McCoy again. "All of us who went back to the Twentieth Century will have specialized fields of knowledge, any of which could be crucial in Starfleet's decision."

"You mean their decision to leave Gillian and the whales here or not," said Kirk.

"What!" screamed McCoy. "I didn't hear Morrow say they were considering taking them back! What should we do, let that giant tin can finish boiling the whole planet?"

"There are other considerations as well," said Spock. "Even if we ignore the billions of people who do not exist now who would have if we had not brought back Dr. Taylor and the whales, and the billions who do exist now who would not have, we still must consider several disturbing facts. For example, how many cases are there of the rechanneling of great potential into history-altering endeavors, such as we saw in the prevention of the Eugenics Wars by the man who should have invented transparent aluminum?"

"So someone else got rich, and he saved millions of lives!" snorted McCoy.

"Hardly that simple, Doctor," retorted Spock. "I remember no history of massive epidemics of bioengineered plagues in the early Twenty-first Century. Perhaps some mind or minds otherwise occupied in our remembered history found other work to do in current history."

"Well..." started McCoy, but Spock went on.

"And in addition we have the disturbing projections involving Dr. Taylor."

"You mean that business of her disappearing from the records?" asked Kirk.

"Precisely, Captain. It is puzzling that in two such different scenarios she simply vanishes."

"But didn't you say," protested the doctor, "that the presence or absence of any particular individual in any particular history appears random with our limited analysis?"

"For any randomly chosen individual, yes. But Dr. Taylor is hardly a random individual. Indeed, she is the swingpin on which this entire situation balances."

"But, Spock," asked Kirk, "what if she _were_ the individual randomly selected for one of your projections? What then?"

"Logically, her existence, too, would be subject to the apparently whimsical ebb and flow of the continuum," Spock explained, "which is why I told you that the convergence of those two projections on the matter of her disappearance from the timeline does not necessarily indicate the validity of either."

"What's all that mumbo-jumbo mean, Spock?" demanded McCoy. "Is she the crux of the problem or not?"

Spock turned cold eyes on the doctor and replied, "The apparent self-contradictions in a discussion of time continuum projections, while frustrating, can hardly be classified as meaningless incantations." He turned back to Kirk and said, "What is perhaps most disturbing is that we may find that we have so tampered with history up to this point that we cannot justify sacrificing it for the sake of one planet."

Kirk startled. "Spock! Are you saying that we might decide it was a mistake to bring back the whales and save Earth?"

"Yes, Jim. It is unpleasant to consider, but even the billions of lives involved might not warrant the changes produced by our rescuing the whales and the planet."

"Spock!" cried McCoy. "Your own father was on that planet!"

Again the Vulcan turned to face McCoy. "Doctor, are you implying that Sarek's life is worth more than any other?"

"To you, it should be!"

"To consider my personal investment in this matter is not logical," he answered.

McCoy was gearing up for one of his cold-blooded-Vulcan-without-a-heart tirades, but Kirk intercepted, "Spock. Even if you're right, and we find out something that makes us regret our action, Starfleet will never go along with our recommendation."

Spock was quiet for a moment before answering, "I assumed they would not."

Kirk studied his friend's face. Its usual greenish cast was eerily bronzed by the flickering firelight. "You can't be suggesting we take matters into our own hands!" he exclaimed in a whisper.

Spock did not answer, but McCoy yelled, "Are you crazy? You want another mutiny on our records? Look, I'm sorry I even suggested this. Let's change the subject."

Neither of the others said anything, and the doctor snorted disgustedly and threw a stick onto the blazing fire.

"Okay," Kirk suggested after a minute. "We're not getting anywhere, and Bones is right, we've got too little time as it is."

Spock picked up his Vulcan harp and began to pluck some notes.

"Are you going to play something?" Kirk asked.

Kirk and McCoy grinned as they recognized the first notes of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". The three began to sing.

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	3. Chapter 3

Admiral Morrow was called to Pulaski VI to investigate the apparent sabotage of a Fleet dilithium production facility, so the scheduled appointment was canceled at the last minute. Finding himself with a morning suddenly free, Jim Kirk decided impetuously to see how Dr. Taylor was getting along. Besides, he argued with himself when his conscience began to question his actions, he had barely used the new skimmer he recently bought. It was a Moravian Calypso, the finest sub-light made. Large enough to sport full galley, bunk area, and passenger seating, it was small enough for one person to pilot alone in any circumstance. The only workout he'd given it was that quick trip to the Moon right before his birthday for Chuck Dorsey's wedding. Gillian was sure to be impressed. Before his conscience could interrupt again, he started for the hangar.

When he neared the _Hawking_, he radioed the con tower and was informed of the bearings of the shuttlecraft, six kilometers to the northwest. A minute later he piloted his skimmer alongside the shuttle, which was stationary, about five meters above the rough waves. A bay in the floor of the craft was open, and two people were wrestling with a tangle of cables, which ended with a basket of what looked like electronic sampling gear. Jim switched his scanners to infrared and immediately picked up George and Gracie, who were four klicks away, swimming steadily toward this spot. Ahah! An ambush.

He watched as Gillian and the other person untangled the cables with one hand while they hung onto a safety rope with the other. The mess had clearly happened after deployment, and the knot of cables was positioned in such a way to prevent hauling them back into the shuttlecraft for repair. Neither of them had noticed the visiting skimmer, which was certainly inaudible to them over the noise of the sea and the whine of their own vehicle. Jim thumbed open a speaker channel and said, "Gillian! Hi! It's Jim Kirk!"

The two of them looked up, and Gillian pointed and waved at the skimmer. A sudden gust of wind at that instant caught her head-on, and she fell, grabbing onto the basket just before she plunged the rest of the way to the water. Her companion slid down the cables to the equipment basket and reached out an arm to her, but she was hanging from the bottom of the basket, and he was unable to get closer due to the equipment between them. Jim's hands flew over his control boards. He double-checked the dials, then pushed dual levers forward. There was a jumble of lights behind his chair, then a groan of surprise as Gillian found herself crouched on the transporter pad instead of hanging over open sea. She looked up and smiled at Kirk. "Thanks for the rescue."

"My pleasure. Welcome aboard."

She slowly unfolded herself from her position and stood up. Running her hands down her sides, she said, "Sorry for the appearance. I didn't expect visitors."

He studied her for a moment. Her coveralls were wet with salt spray, and her hair was concealed under a stocking cap. She wore thick navy gloves, and her eyes sparkled. "You look great," he said, not lying. "This work must agree with you."

By now she had made it to his side, and she saw Ron still hanging from the cable through the glass of the foreport. "That's my R.A., Ron Fairbanks," she said.

"Shall we help him up?"

"Might be nice," she laughed, sitting in the seat he indicated to her. 

He thumbed open the channel again and said, "Hang tight, Ron, while I get your transporter coordinates."

A moment later he activated the controls, and Gillian turned to face the transporter pad. "Where is he?" she gasped when the machine's musical whine had failed.

"On your shuttle. Can he fly it?"

She rolled her eyes. "He taught me."

"Good. Strap in." He flipped several switches, and the skimmer banked away from the shuttlecraft.

"Hey, wait a minute!" she cried, buckling her harness against the sudden gee force. "Where are you taking me?"

"Paris," he said, pushing a lever.

The vehicle began climbing and accelerating at a dizzying rate. "Paris!" she screamed above the roar of the engines, "Are you crazy?"

"Yes," he replied, turning his chair to face her. "I'm crazy about onion soup, and you can only get real onion soup in Paris. How about lunch?"

"You are crazy! Lunch? Just like that? Dressed like this?"

He gave her an intense grin and said, "So you like the idea, too? Great!"

She tightened her face and said, "Jim Kirk, you take me back to my shuttlecraft this instant!"

"Sorry," he said, still grinning. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Why not? Why not...Uh, because we just crossed into Alaska, and flight changes over the tundra are not permitted in vehicles over sixteen megaphotons."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't? Well, I'm sorry, but that's the law, and you wouldn't want me to break the law, would you?"

"Is there a law against kidnapping?"

He made a thoughtful scowl. "Kidnapping? Hmm, I think there may be something about that, but I happen to know that there is a special exemption concerning beautiful young women from the past who have been working too hard and are being kidnapped for the purpose of taking them to lunch in Paris, all expenses paid."

"I see," she said, her glare softening. "Very convenient. But I'm not going anywhere, especially not Paris, dressed like an overtime mechanic."

"Ahah!" he cried, releasing his harness and jumping from his seat. "Right this way, _madame_." He indicated the hatchway at the rear of the cabin, and she reluctantly released herself and went on through.

It reminded Gillian of a luxury stateroom. Beautifully appointed, compact, trim, it even had a circular port, through which she could see nothing but a solid cloud cover far below and a strange, inky sky. He saw her glance and explained quickly, "We're at the edge of the atmosphere. It makes for a smoother ride."

She turned from the glass. "Are we really over the tundra?"

He reflected a moment. "Probably water by now, or ice rather. We should be in sight of Scotland within half an hour."

She raised her brow, but said nothing. He pointed, "This is a synthesizer. Are you familiar with them?"

"For food, yes."

"This is for clothing."

She looked shocked. "You make all your own clothes?"

He laughed, "Well, not all of them, and not all the time, but a vessel capable of flight anywhere in the system needs either extensive stores of various gear, or a synthesizer. This one is state of the art."

"I see," she said with a smile, moving to touch the controls. A menu came up on the screen, and her eye fell immediately on the entry "Ladies' Evening Wear". She gave him a prim look and said, "You never know when you might have to crash land in a nightclub."

"Uh, yes," he mumbled, reaching over her shoulder to touch the entry "Women's Casual".

Soon Gillian was engrossed in the myriad fashions scrolling across the screen, and when she could finally make up her mind, she looked up to see that Kirk had left her alone and closed the hatch behind him.

Gillian looked up from her plate and caught Jim smiling goofily at her. "Problem, Captain?" she asked with a grin.

"Uh...no, no," he mumbled, fumbling with his glass. "I was just...thinking."

"Oh? About your mission to Nimbus III?"

Regaining his composure, he replied, "No, actually. I was thinking how beautiful you look in that dress. I don't remember ever seeing you in a dress."

"Well, you have, but I think you had other things on your mind at the time—like your skin-diving Vulcan friend."

Kirk smiled and picked up his glass. "So, how do you like your soup?"

"It's exquisite." She met his eyes. "Thanks, Jim. I needed to be kidnapped."

He saluted her with his wineglass. "Any time, milady."

"You know you have a weird century here."

"How so?"

"Well, you call ranking women 'sir', but you take them to sidewalk cafes in Paris call them 'milady.'"

He grinned and replied, "We've learned that women have more than one role."

"What about men?" she parried.

"Also, of course. I once knew a guy who was in the Merchant Marine. He was married to his ship's skipper, but they both belonged to the Myrmaq religion, which is prevalent among the working classes in the Sagittarius sector. The priests of this religion are considered superior to the commoners. He was a priest. Made for some interesting arguments."

"I imagine," she chuckled, but then she became very serious. "Jim, what's bothering you?"

He started to deny, then said, "Am I that transparent?"

She shook her head. "No, but I've seen you worried, and I've seen you happy. This is phony happy."

He saluted her again and said, "There was a woman I knew once. I met her in the past, Earth's past." Gillian put down her spoon and met his stare. "She was an intense, very much alive woman who had grand dreams for herself and for mankind. And by going into the past, some of us caused an interference in the time continuum, and she became involved in that interference.

"It's hard to explain, but somehow Spock got hold of the records of two different futures, both based on the past in which I currently was living." He stopped here and sipped his wine, breaking the stare.

Gillian drank from her glass and said, "At first I thought you were talking about me." She caught his eye. "You loved her."

He nodded.

"What was her name?"

"Edith. Edith Keeler."

"So, what happened?"

"McCoy went back in time first. As soon as he did, the _Enterprise_, the Federation, the Universe as we know it disappeared."

"What? How?"

He signaled her for patience. "Spock and I went back. We finally discovered that Edith Keeler was the principle force behind America's refusal to enter the Second World War."

"But America did ent...Oh."

"She gave her whole soul to pacifism. She was convinced that mankind's future lay in the stars, not in bombs and bullets. She was right, of course, but she couldn't have been more wrong. Hitler was victorious, he used his V-2 rockets to conquer the world, and the rest was history, but not the one I had learned."

"So you had to convince her to stop?" she asked when he didn't go on.

He shook his head. "Remember, I told you Bones went first. He...he saved her life, kept her from being run over on the street."

Gillian gasped. "You mean that if she had lived, all that business about Hitler would have happened?"

"It did happen, Gillian. That is, until Spock and I went back in time."

"You didn't...?" she started, then realizing, she said, "Of course you didn't. But what did you do?"

His eyes glistened, and his voice was barely audible. "We stopped Dr. McCoy when he tried to rescue her."

Gillian blinked back tears and said softly, "Don't say any more, Jim. I know how you feel. The guilt, the anguish. When my mother was pregnant with me, my baby brother ran out into the street during a Fourth of July picnic. She took off after him, but she just missed grabbing him in time. Until the day she died, she never forgave herself for those two seconds."

Kirk shook his head. "But at least she tried, Gillian."

"And you didn't?" She looked him straight in the eye. "You succeeded, Jim! The easy thing would have been to save Edith."

"It's hardly the same! Your mother had to face that she couldn't get there in time, but I had to stand aside and let it happen, knowing exactly what would happen."

She reached over and took his hand. "And you've had to live with it since. Oh, Jim, what a sacrifice!"

He put his other hand on hers and forced a smile. "A selfish one. I had to watch Edith die, but if I hadn't everything and everyone else I knew and loved would have ceased to exist, and I would have been marooned in another time."

Her tears bounced off her cheeks as they raised in a grin. "Being marooned in time isn't the worst fate there is."

He smiled and released her hands. "Forcing your way onto a ship as stowaway hardly counts as being marooned."

"And rescuing a damsel in distress hardly counts as kidnapping. Jim, thanks for this."

He nodded and said, "Enough depressing talk. It's a beautiful afternoon, and we're in Paris. What would you like to do?"

She laughed. "I'd like to stroll the _Champs Elyssée_, visit the Left Bank, hop over to the Riviera for a dip, then dine in Rome."

"You're on!" he said excitedly, jumping to his feet.

"But!" she laughed, pulling him back into his chair. "I'm not going to do any of those things. I've been away from George and Gracie too long, and I've got to find out what's happening to them."

"Happening to them?"

Her face lost all of its mirth. "Yes, Jim. They seem to be failing, the way all the last Humpbacks did. And we haven't been able to figure out why!" Her eyes went wide, and she did smile. "Oh, Jim! I just remembered Ron. I wonder if he's got the cable untangled yet. The whales must have passed by long before he did."

Kirk shrugged. "That's what research assistants are for. Can't he handle the rest of the day?"

"Probably, but then I'd have to admit that he knows more than I do—which is true—but I'm determined to catch up."

He thought for a moment, then said, "Have you talked to Spock about the whales?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him since your hearing. Does he know about whales?"

"Spock knows about everything. But more importantly, he...well, you see, Vulcans are kind of like walking computers. They often can figure out things that...wait a minute! When we first figured out what the probe was up to, he mentioned that he wished he could speak to a Vulcan...Sernak? I can't remember, but I'll ask him."

"From what I know of Vulcans, a Vulcan cetacean biologist would be a big help at this point. But if there is one, why hasn't Ron mentioned it? He wants to help George and Gracie as much as I do."

"I don't know. What's his background? Is he really a cetacean specialist?"

"A great one. He said he's from...it sounds so silly to me...U-Terr-Alpha Mix."

"That explains it then," he said, as if she'd just spoken a self-evident truth.

"Huh?"

"Camerronites are terribly provincial, and their whole culture is pretty xenophobic. You see, the Centauri region was colonized by humans before we came into contact with any intelligent aliens..." He paused and thought to himself _that is, if Zephram Cochrane even existed in this timeline_. Then he shook it off and continued, "I bet most Centuarans have never met a Vulcan. It just wouldn't occur to him to consider Vulcan help. And don't be surprised if he's a bit reticent to accept it."

"Hey! Who's in charge, anyway?" she said, standing up. 

"That's the spirit!" he laughed. "Are you sure you won't reconsider St. Tropez and Rome?"

"After you've been so nice to me, dare I ask, some other time?"

"Any time would be fine, Gillian," he replied with a grin, but the grin faded as his words echoed in his mind—_any time would be fine.._.

* * *

Dr. McCoy pushed the viewer aside and frowned. No record of gamma catalase therapy. Or catatheracyanovon. Or Vulcan antirepressives. Library never heard of Dr. Simeon Waast, or K'Lun-gil, or even Sharzuu-wan-hikl! And there's all that stuff about Rigellian fireworm extracts for Kapula fever or some such nonsense. How could he continue to practice medicine? He might prescribe something that doesn't exist! Or lose a patient when a drug he never heard of was sitting on the shelf.

It had seemed so...logical at the time! Earth was being vaporized by that alien hunk of metal because there were no whales. So go get some. Hunk of metal goes home. Everything's fine. "Right," he muttered aloud.

"What was that, sir?" came a pleasant female voice.

"Oh, Kelly, I didn't hear you come in. Is something wrong with the kids?"

"They're all fine," she replied with a smile. "I just came to see if you needed something." She really just wanted to be near the doctor. Oh, she didn't have a crush on him or anything, though she did think he was kind of cute, for somebody older than her grandfather, that is. She simply learned so much whenever he was around, and she found the fact that he spent whatever free time he had helping out at Starfleet Children's Hospital inspiring. When she finished her degree, she wanted to be a pediatric surgeon, and Dr. McCoy's skill was admirable. She felt an all too familiar wrench in her gut as she considered that it was his experience with child casualties of war and disaster which had honed his skill, but she knew he felt it, too. She could see the pain in his eyes when he smiled, trying to cheer up an injured kid, or when he had to break bad news to some parents. Behind his gruff, crotchety exterior she could see his heart of gold, and she knew that tonight it was more than his midnight vigil with the children. Something was bothering him.

"No, thanks. I think I'll go check on that little Andorian girl." He started to get up.

"I just checked her," she said quickly. "She's sleeping fine. That tissue culture did the trick. Where'd you learn that? I never saw it the whole time I studied on Andor."

He chuckled, "They don't have Carrington's Syndrome on their native planet, so they don't teach the cure. Only the Andorian exos know about it. That culture business was developed in a tiny Andorian colony in the Perseus sector. Local doctor and I were trading tales at a starbase once, and he explained it to me. I guess I should write it up sometime."

She broke a puzzled frown. "But you did, doctor. Just before you...just before you went back into the Service. I found it in the files a minute ago."

He stared at her, then gave a weak smile. "Oh, right. Must be getting senile," he joked.

She smiled back, but she knew he wasn't joking. And he wasn't going senile, either.

* * *

Sulu was already at Starfleet Headquarters, sitting outside Admiral Morrow's office. He wanted to see him before the others got there. He knew that the captain and Mr. Spock were working on this time displacement problem, but his experience yesterday was something he needed to talk to the admiral about alone. He wiped his sweaty palms and glanced at the admiral's secretary. He was busy at his terminal, but he must have sensed Sulu's stare and looked up. "He'll be here soon, Mr. Sulu," said the young man with a smile.

"Thank you. I don't mind waiting," he lied.

"Would you like me to log you in, then you could go for a cup of coffee or something?" He reached for the console.

"No!" shouted Sulu, his nervousness getting the better of him. "No, thanks. Not in the computer, no. Thanks."

The secretary gave a quick, puzzled smile and went back to his work. Sulu wiped his hands again and tried to calm down. That was close.

He jumped to his feet when Admiral Morrow walked briskly in. The admiral took one look at Sulu and said, "The meeting is scheduled for 1300."

"Yes, sir. I was hoping to have a minute with you beforehand."

He glanced at his secretary, then back at Sulu. "Very well. Roger, get me my coffee, and post all messages to my terminal. Mr. Sulu?" He waited for Sulu, then followed him into his private office.

As Morrow sat down he gestured for the nervous Sulu to take a seat. "Well?" he urged.

"I'm afraid there have been many more changes in the time continuum that we thought."

Morrow frowned. "As I understood Mr. Spock, the changes could be legion."

"I think he's right."

"Elaborate."

"Well, yesterday my computer flashed a Code Gamma priority."

"Who was it?" the admiral asked excitedly.

"Somebody calling themselves 'Blue Leader,' but they wouldn't identify themselves."

"Impossible! Anyone authorized to use Code Gam—" He stopped himself, understanding washing over his face. Under the desk he pressed a button with his foot.

"I know," continued Sulu, clearing his throat. "It appears that my...my...counterpart in this altered continuum is in a bit of trouble with organized crime."

"I see."

"Well, sir, I don't. I mean, the message was a threat, and in a stolen code, and it demanded certain military secrets."

"I see," repeated the admiral with a strange look on his face.

"Sir! I don't even know the things it was asking me to tell! And I never would tell if I knew!"

"Mr. Sulu, I must warn you that this confession can be used against you at your court martial."

"Court martial!" screamed Sulu, jumping from his chair.

At that moment the door whooshed open, and three security guards entered, phasers drawn.

Morrow stood and said with a grin, "We've been looking for the Weapons leak for a long time. It was good of you to come clean like this—it'll go easier on you for your cooperation."

"Admiral! I'm not cooperating! I mean, I _am_ cooperating, but I'm not guilty. It's the other Sulu, the one from this time that must—"

"Mr. Sulu," said Morrow with forced patience, "this is the only time I know anything about, and you're the only Hikaru Sulu I know. Guards, maximum security and no unauthorized visitors. Especially not Captain James T. Kirk, or Captain Spock."

Sulu tried to speak calmly. "Admiral, I must protest. You know that we are engaged in a study of the effects of our time-space displacement, and that in actuality I am not from this time-space, since I arrived from an altered—"

"Mr. Sulu. I am aware only of the fact that we have had a breach of security, which we traced to several crime lords, two of which are Klingon. You have admitted your role in this crime." Sulu started to speak, but he drowned him out, "AND you are the only Sulu I have to prosecute. But this is the Federation, not your beloved Empire, so you'll have your fair day in court. Take him away."

* * *

All that was visible of Chief Engineer Scott were the soles of his boots, which were protruding from an opening in the side of the vintage shuttlecraft. Spock stood by, holding a tricorder. Scotty's muffled voice asked, "Is she holdin' steady, man?"

"Negligible variation in both sine and steady waves," answered Spock.

"We did it!" came the muffled shout of joy, followed by a grunt and a curse as Scotty bumped his head trying to extricate himself. When he was finally out, rubbing his scalp, he complained, "I sure dinna understand why they used to make those access ports so narrow!"

Spock eyed him carefully and replied, "Perhaps when this vessel was designed, people were smaller."

Scotty looked at him quizzically, considering the possibility of a Vulcan joke, then shook his head and said, "This craft is not _that_ old, Mr. Spock." To his raised brow Scotty answered, "She's got plenty of life left in her, especially now that I've installed the new dilithium chamber!"

"Computer simulations confirm a warp upgrade of twenty-three point one percent, minimum."

"Bah!" grunted Scotty. "Simulations! Pretty pictures is all that lot is! Do we have time to shake her down?"

"Negative. We are due at Admiral Morrow's office in point three two hours."

"What! I better go get cleaned up. Here, take this." He handed Spock the greasy tool he'd been holding and headed briskly out of the hangar. Spock opened his hand deliberately and looked at the dark smudge on the palm. He raised one brow and walked slowly away from the shuttlecraft.

* * *

Pavel Chekov checked the time. He could make it to the library and still get to Starfleet Headquarters for their appointment. He looked down the street. The nearest Express entry lift was two hundred meters away. With a flash of smile, he jumped over the divider and onto the walkway, grinning self-satisfiedly as he snapped his body forward, countering his sudden motion and keeping his feet. An old woman turned to give him a disapproving scowl, but he grinned back, feeling as young and reckless as she probably thought him to be.

At the library he called up the reference, then frowned when the screen flashed "Incorrect Entry, Try Again." "Dumb machines, can't even understand a Russian accent," he griped, then said loudly, "_Russkiy yazik, pozhaluysta_!" The computer answered in Russian, and he asked for the book. Again it failed to respond. Mumbling Slavic imprecations under his breath, he went to the desk. "Dis computer kennot find vun of de most popular nawigation textbooks in de galaxy!" he complained.

The librarian offered to assist, and he gave the name of the book. When he showed no signs of recognition, Chekov added, "By Dmitrov?_General _Dmitrov? Of the Romulan campaign? Dis is Starfleet Library, yes?"

Still nothing. With a shrug, the man keyed in the reference. "Sorry," he said, "there's no record of that book. Perhaps a different spelling?" he suggested.

Everyone turned to stare as Chekov raised his voice and said, "Spelling? Dere is only vun way to spell Dmitrov!" His eye caught a chrono on the wall, and he said, "Forget it."

But he couldn't, and he made a mental note to ask Captain Kirk about it.

* * *

Gillian looked up from the screen and rubbed her eyes. "I'm ready for a break. How about lunch?"

Ron grinned. "Sure. Only I'm afraid all we've got are some sandwiches. No onion soup."

"Sandwiches would be fine." She scrolled a few more graphs on the screen, then shouted. "Ron! What this thermal data from?"

He stepped over and looked. "Oh, that's George's basal temperature over the last fifteen hours."

"How'd you get that?" she asked, turning in her chair to look at him face on.

His grin got bigger. "Well, I knew I wouldn't get that mess untangled myself...so, I rigged a substitute heat probe and dropped in into George when the whales swam under the ship."

"You dropped it by hand?"

"Sure," he chuckled. "I hung by my feet from the bay and reached over the cables to drop it. It was just like that old kids' game...what was it? I saw a vid of it once. Mumbles...mumble pig..."

She laughed, "Mumbledy-peg!"

"That's it! Anyway, it worked. I was hoping to hit Gracie—the data would be better from her, since it would give us a good idea of when she was about to calve, but I couldn't tell 'em apart from way up there."

He handed her a sandwich, and while she munched she kept calling up data in a random attempt to find something that would give them a key to the problem with the whales. Ron was busy putting together another probe package, since they had had to cut all the cables to fix that mess.

About a half hour later Gillian was looking at microbe counts (and marveling to herself how this computer was able to project a micrograph on the screen that the best scanning microscopes of her day would have been unable to produce) when a very unusual picture came up. She halted it and called for contrastive highlighting. It was obviously a virus, but its protein coat had a helical projection at the top, like the tip of a snail shell. The computer had tagged it as a virus in the _Oceanus_ series.

Gillian frowned and said, "Ron, what's this virus?"

He leaned over to see the screen. "_Oceanus_? It's the most common pelagic virus, kind of a marine _E. Coli_. We use it to calibrate scanners and stuff. Why?"

She was reading down the file she'd called up. "It says here that certain marine organisms, including Humpbacks, concentrate it in their viscera."

"Yeah. It's harmless enough, though it does attack a few common marine bacteria. Every inoculation study that's ever been done has found it harmless. Even humans can harbor it, and most coastal people have it in their gut."

"But why...Oh, never mind."

"No, Gillian, what is it?"

"It's just that I've never seen it before. True, marine virus studies weren't that progressed where I came from, but I took a course from this guy who was a virus nut. It was supposed to be marine ecology, but we spent most of the time looking at electron micrographs of viruses."

"Really? This is one of the biggest viruses there is. How come you people didn't find it?"

"Good question, Ron. And it might be significant."

"I doubt it. Those things are so common, they've been studied to death. By the time somebody finishes first semester marine virology, he's nauseous of them. Here, give me hand wiring this sensor, will you?"

* * *

"If you'll all take your seats..." said Admiral Morrow.

"Wait a minute, Harry," said Kirk. "Sulu isn't here yet."

"He won't be coming," said Morrow, and before any of them could respond he explained, "Mr. Sulu came to me earlier and confessed to being the spy who has been leaking Federation secrets to that Klingon crime syndicate."

"What!" screamed five of them.

Spock asked calmly, "To what crime syndicate are you referring, Admiral?"

McCoy turned on Spock. "The man tells us that Sulu is arrested for espionage, and you want to catch up on the news?"

Spock fixed a cold eye on him. "Obviously, we have come upon yet another alteration in the time continuum, doctor. Logically, if we can discover the details of the alteration, we can better understand how to—"

"Logic!" grunted McCoy. "The golden calf of green-blooded—"

"Silence!" cried Morrow. "Mr. Spock, since you have brought up the subject matter of this briefing, perhaps you will begin with the summaries you promised."

Everyone else glared at the admiral, but Spock looked him in the eye and said, "That would be illogical, sir."

"What?"

"Admiral, we cannot hope to piece together the puzzle of what has happened to the time continuum without the presence of all those who have come to this time-space from the unaltered one."

Morrow snorted. "I am getting tired of being told that I live in an altered time-space! You're the ones with the problem! As far as I can see, if we just leave everything alone, everything will be fine."

"Harry!" yelled Kirk. "You can't be serious. Spock has uncovered over six hundred vital differences between history as we know it and the records here, and thousands of seemingly less important ones. I certainly don't have to remind someone of your scientific training how disastrous even minute changes in history can be, or how—"

"Listen, Jim. I know this is hard on all of you, coming back to find everything different from the way you remember it, but think about it! We've been doing fine for three hundred years since you took those whales. Why can't we just live with the changes?"

"Correction, Admiral," came Spock's placid voice. "It is only zero point one four standard since we arrived and successfully saved this planet from the alien's probe's attack." Kirk shot him a grateful look, and the Vulcan went on, "Since we arrived at that point almost immediately after removing the whales from Old Earth, the disruption of the continuum occurred at that time, and it is too early to assess the full extent of that disruption."

"Too early?" demanded Scotty. "They've hauled Sulu off to the brig an' you canna assess the disruption?"

Chekov added, "And dey have never heard of General Dmitrov!"

McCoy said, "Admiral, many of the medical treatments I am used to using are unknown in your 'everything's fine' time-space here. I just hope you don't catch Capellan volcaniconiosus, since there isn't any catatheracyanovon around!" He muttered under his breath, "Or maybe I do!"

"Listen, guys," said Uhura, "I admit some of you have problems of cosmic importance, but to me it's no little matter that I left this place a free woman, but I come back to find the Uhura from this warped universe married."

Morrow said, "You were surprised to find out you were married to Jack Sapir?"

Chekov said, "Jack Sapir? The science reporter?"

Uhura asked curiously, "You know him?"

Chekov shook his head. "No, but I've read many of his pieces. You know, it's funny—a few years ago he did an article on female starship officers, and I wondered why he didn't interview you."

Uhura laughed. "He got more than an interview the other night. I almost broke his larynx when he surprised me at home. Thought he was breaking and entering."

Scotty nodded, "Aye, you poor lass! That's almost as bad as my fright when I checked on the _Enterprise_'s antimatter pods. It's a wonder this place hasn't blown itself up! Can you believe it—they're still using Germanium access ports! It's been at least fifty years since we had to use anything so primitive! I go away for a few centuries, and everything goes to hell around here!"

"Curious," said Spock with what might have been a frown. "Germanium access ports? When I was interfacing one of the computers at Starfleet Library, I found a Holbrook junction in the mainframe interlocks. That technology dates from the same time as Germanium ports, but the computer was brand new." He turned to Morrow and said, "Admiral, it would appear that the alterations in the continuum have affected Starfleet technology sufficiently to place it considerably behind that of the Romulans, and perhaps even the Klingons."

Kirk jumped in, "Let's hope that _they_ haven't discovered that yet."

The admiral asked Spock, "The thought that the Federation has lost technology in the time disruption is disturbing. But how can I know what you're saying is true?"

Kirk responded, "Harry! He's a Vulcan, dammit! What do you think, we're all Klingon spies?"

Morrow eyed him strangely, but before he could say anything, McCoy said, "This is ridiculous! I never thought I'd say it, but I wish we'd stayed in that barbaric place where they drill holes in people's head to fix a ruptured meningeal artery!"

Uhura added, "Gentlemen, we're supposed to be discussing the alterations in the continuum, not arguing. There is no longer any doubt that extremely major changes have been made by our going back for the whales, and now we have to figure out what we're going to do about it!"

The admiral, angered by the lack of control he'd had in this meeting, said quickly, "No, Mr. Uhura. You are not here to figure out what to do about it. That is up to Starfleet. If you will all leave the data I requested, I'll submit it and get back to you when they've made their decision."

They all started talking at once, and Morrow shouted, "Enough! Just leave your findings. Dismissed!"

For one mutinous moment several pairs of eyes glared at the admiral, but at Kirk's initial example, the _Enterprise_ crew dropped their computer chips on the table and stalked out quietly. Spock brought up the rear, and as he reached the door, he turned and fixed Morrow with an upturned brow. "Admiral," he said almost placidly, "I did not want to alarm the others unduly, and I could not put such a tentative conclusion in my report, but several of my alternative projection studies have indicted the possibility of a Klingon-backed civil war in the Federation within the decade. Now that I've learned of the sorry state of your technology here, I've discovered the missing piece of the puzzle."

"What's that," the admiral said coolly, "the Klingons use their superior technology to lure planets away from the Federation?"

"Precisely, Admiral. Frontier worlds are always low on appropriations priorities. And many of them are nearer the Empire than the heart of the Federation. It is economically, as well as politically, expedient for the Klingons to supply them."

The admiral answered with a smirk, "How do you know that the Klingons aren't even more backward than you remember them in this 'altered' time?"

"Because," replied the Vulcan, his brows tight together, "one of the laws all of T'Laq's work is based on is that the magnitude of the effect of a time-space disruption is inversely proportional to the square of the distance from the locus of the disruption in space, and directly proportional to the square of the distance from the locus in time."

Startled, Morrow asked, "You mean that the longer we go on after the disruption, the worse it gets?"

"Affirmative. And Earth, where the disruption occurred, is hardest hit. The Klingons will have suffered few if any alterations."

The admiral stared at Spock for a moment, then sighed loudly. "Whales," he muttered, dropping into his chair.

"Indeed," agreed Spock, taking his leave.

_Please review._


	4. Chapter 4

Gillian frowned. Ron was busy assembling the equipment for another drop attempt. If the whales kept on course, they'd be below the shuttle in an hour. But she couldn't get her mind off that dumb virus. It had to be an oversight. Surely the virus didn't evolve in the last couple centuries. Certainly it had been around in her day, and they just didn't notice it. But Bryan Matthewson not notice the largest, most common marine virus?

Suddenly, her face brightened with a devious grin, and she grabbed the comm. Moments late the screen was filled with Jim Kirk's smiling face. "Gillian! How's the whale business?"

"Complicated," she answered, noting Jim's glance past her shoulder to Ron.

"Hi, Ron!" said Kirk.

The young man rolled his eyes and said, "Hello, Captain. Thanks for the lift the other day."

"Any time, son, any time," said Jim gleefully.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ron said under his breath, then, "Gillian, I'm going down to the bay to try this stuff out."

Kirk grinned and said, "So, Gillian. What's up? Ready for Nice and Rome?"

"I wish," she said, her tone implying she really meant the words. "Jim, could you get me a little time on the _Enterprise_'s computers?"

"Sure! Don't you have enough power?"

"It isn't computations I need, it's records. Everything here is pretty much focused on the life sciences. Uhura tells me you're known for your libraries."

He always felt humbled by the recognition of the _Enterprise_'s collection, which he considered as much a part of her soul as her antimatter pods or cargo bays or anything else. In all his voyages with her he'd made extra effort to increase and diversify her libraries, but he felt strange taking credit for such an obvious task. Other life forms struggled to discover, catalog, and create. All he did is gather.

He nodded slightly and answered, "I'm just the caretaker, but the _Enterprise_ has gathered the largest repository of the galaxy's knowledge in all her wanderings. Every time we dock, I have the entire library dumped, so the rest of the Federation is constantly updated. Starfleet here in Frisco has everything we do, but the _Enterprise_ is a lot more comfortable than a stuffy old library building. Or would you rather I get Spock to arrange a link for your computers?"

At the mention of the Vulcan she remembered their conversation in Paris. If she could speak with Mr. Spock, she might get in touch with Vulcan cetaceanologists. "No, would it be a bother if I used the_ Enterprise_'s computers in person?"

"Bother? It would be my pleasure to show you a _real_ starship."

They both laughed over their shared adventure in the Klingon Bird of Prey, and she said, "Great. Thanks, Jim."

"Hold on," he said reaching for something. "I'll have you beamed up in just a min—"

"Wait! I've got to tell Ron where I'm going."

"Oh. Right."

She shook her head and laughed. "Ron," she said into the intercom.

"Almost set, Gillian. This time we'll get it!"

"Great. Can you handle it alone?"

Even without visual, she saw his smirk. "Where're you off to this time? Moscow?"

"The library," answered Gillian.

"Ooh!" exclaimed Ron. "Hot date! Sure, go ahead, I can take care of this."

A minute later she was standing on the pad in the _Enterprise_'s transporter room. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Mr. Spock himself at the controls, and said so. He answered, "Dr. Taylor, it is not at all uncommon for the executive officer of a starship to personally beam aboard a distinguished visitor, and when that visitor is also a scientist, it is not uncommon for the science officer to be on hand."

Gillian smiled at him, and he cocked his head as if confused. "Oh, go on Mr. Spock," she laughed. "You're a big phony and a sweet man."

Before he could form some denial, she said, suddenly all serious, "And you might be just the man to help me."

"At your service, Doctor."

She stepped off the pad and approached him. "I'm interested in a Vulcan cetaceanologist Ji...Captain Kirk mentioned. Maybe Sernak?"

"You must mean Sennak. But I'm afraid you cannot communicate with him. He is researching a large aquatic mammal on Syrrus IV, which is in a nebula which has been undergoing a severe ionic storm for the past two weeks."

Once again Gillian was amazed at the vast amount of information on which Spock stays current, but she turned to the task at hand. "Well, Captain Kirk suggested you might be able to help me with my problem."

"Problem, Doctor?"

"Well, they're two actually. First, the whales seem to be failing, just the way all the captive Humpbacks did when they became extinct."

"Interesting. I do not recall any biological failure. The last known Humpback died in the open sea."

"What about Barney?"

Something darted behind Spock's eyes, and he invited her to join him in one of the computer labs. He called up the historical files for the Humpbacks and read through as the screen scrolled at blurring speed. After ten seconds, he halted the computer and turned to Gillian. "Unfortunately, my memory seems to be in error."

Something in his tone made her attend carefully to his words. She asked, "Is it true Vulcans cannot lie?"

"Vulcans do not lie."

"But they also never forget."

"Normally, no."

"So what are you really saying, Mr. Spock?"

Spock hesitated, then said, "You said you had two problems, doctor?"

Was he really not going to answer her? But whatever he was up to, he still could help her with the whales. Perhaps. "It's the virus _Oceanus_."

"_Oceanus_." he repeated noncommittally.

"The most prevalent life form in the earth's oceans?" she tried.

Spock's hands flew over the computer controls and moments later a schematic of the virus' protein sheath and of its RNA sequencing appeared on the screen.

"That's it!" said Gillian. "Can you give me the history of how it was discovered?"

A moment later the text appeared. Spock read each screen in a second, then watched her eyes and scrolled it forward as she finished. The virus was first identified in 1991, but it not occur often in the records until the mid teens, when it was exhaustively studied. She asked, "Could it be that it wasn't around in any numbers until then?"

"Possible," said Spock, staring at the screen, which once again showed the schematics. "You did not know the lifeform?"

"No. And I studied under the greatest marine virologist of the time. He never mentioned it."

"Indeed. Dr. Taylor, I'd like to study this RNA in detail. If you'd like to use the library..."

"Thank you. Is Captain Kirk aboard?" she asked, hoping to thank him. Even if Spock found nothing, he'd already demonstrated that the virus might be new, however that was possible. And he was also hiding something from her. Maybe Jim knew what it was. He might or might not be able to lie, but she felt a lot more confident about getting the truth out of Jim then Spock.

"He was on the Hangar Deck. Take the turbolift right outside the lab."

* * *

Uhura paused outside her apartment door. Taking a deep breath, she palmed the security lock, and the door slid open. He was sitting on the couch, and he looked up. "Nyota," he said, his voice level.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, walking just far enough into the room for the door to close.

"That's all right. Won't you sit down?"

She felt so awkward, being invited into her own home. By this stranger. Her husband. She walked slowly over and chose a chair across from him, next to her Vulcan lyre. "It's Jack, right?"

He said, "Yeah, but you always call me _Mgeni_."

"Stranger?" she said, a bit surprised. Then, "You speak Kiswahili?"

His blue eyes sparkled, and a grin broke on his face. "Only the little bit you've managed to get through this thick skull—mostly those _kanga_ of your grandmother's."

Bibi's proverbs? This...this..._mgeni_? She couldn't help smiling at the incongruity. "Good thing your skull's thick. I gave it a pretty good whack against the wall that night."

He laughed, "_Bure mnanichukia, bahati nimejaliwa_." You hate me in vain, I am blessed with luck.

She just stared at him.

He lifted the long blond hair from his temple, revealing only a small bald spot, still tinted that characteristic blue-green of the regeneration solution. "All healed. I guess I should've listened to Mack."

"What'd he tell you?" she asked, fighting down the urge to ask who the hell Mack was.

He shifted, relaxing into a more informal position. "He told me I shouldn't marry a military woman with martial arts training." He smiled at her.

She didn't smile. "Your mistake."

His face became all serious. "Hardly, Nyota." Their eyes locked meaningfully and held for several seconds. Then he smiled again and said, "Anyway, I told him that nobody would mess with me, or I'd sick you on 'em."

"Guess I lost the scorecard."

"You sure surprised the hell out of me."

"_I_ surprised _you_?"

"Well, usually when I come home you give me a hug and a kiss, not a karate chop in the neck."

"It wasn't a karate chop. It was a _llaekh-ae'rl_ maneuver. Lucky for you we humans never master the Romulan technique. It was originally designed to kill."

Their eyes met again, and he waited a moment to respond, "The doctor said you came by to see me in the hospital."

"You were still in regen. I just wanted to apologize. And to explain."

"Jim came by. He didn't know me either."

"It's all because of the time-space disruptions, and—"

"I know. He gave me Spock's gobbledygook." She smiled, and he added, "Jim was the one who married us."

Her head jerked. There was a long pause, then she said. "He gave me your message."

"It seemed weird, I mean inviting my wife to meet me at home."

"For both of us, Jack." She shook her head. "This is too much! Me? Married? I always thought I was married to my earpiece."

He laughed genuinely. "There've been times your career has come between us."

"Where'd we meet?" she asked, the strangeness wearing off as this man's honest warmth began reaching her.

"At a fleet party on Regula III. I was assigned to cover some galaxy-shaking research by Carol Marcus. She introduced us."

Uhura felt her gut tighten. Kirk had told her about David. For Jack, of course, David had never existed. Or for Carol Marcus! She forced a normal voice. "You're a reporter, right?"

"Head science reporter for Starfleet Press Corps."

"I just don't know," she said softly, reaching for the Vulcan lyre Spock had given her years ago and plucking a few strings.

"Nyota."

She looked up.

"If I understand Jim's explanation, your going back in time altered things, so you came back to a place different from the one you left."

"I know it sounds crazy, but..."

"No, not crazy. Actually, it makes a sort of weird sense. But some things don't. Like how come you were here? I mean, what's the likelihood that you'd have the same apartment there and here? Or should I say, then and now?"

"Both, as Spock explains it. It really is perfectly likely. I loved this apartment when I first saw it six years ago. I moved heaven and earth to get this lease."

His shocked stare made her ask, "What's wrong?"

He didn't speak for quite a while, and she could see that some understanding came over him. "Nyota, I've lived here for over ten years."

Her face mirrored his surprise.

Finally he smiled again. "But you did love it at first sight. I always wondered if you married me for my apartment."

She glanced around the room. "Could be."

He laughed loudly, and she joined in. Then he said, "Nyota, play something."

"What should I play?"

She saw the test written in his expression. "Sing our favorite Deltan ballad."

For several moments she studied his eyes, then her hands began to glide across the lyre. The haunting strains of the song filled the room with a sweet, sensuous air. She saw his reaction, and began to sing. Their favorite.

* * *

Most of the hangar deck was dark. In one corner a bank of lights illuminated a small area. Gillian walked toward it. A lilting voice called out, "I'll be right with ye, Mr. Spock—oh, it's you, lassie!" Scotty stepped out from behind a shuttlecraft, wiping his hands on his coveralls. "And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

She could hardly just ask him where Jim was after that, so she said, "Mr. Spock is running something on the computer for me, and I thought I'd stop in and visit all my friends. Are you making some repairs on this shuttle?"

"Ah," he said, his chest puffing up with pride, "this wee bairn here is my special project."

Gillian chuckled to herself. "Oh, what kind of project?"

"'Tis a Gallagher class shuttle, from the early days of warp drive! I've retrofitted her from the shell to the carpeting. She's got all the grace and beauty of the old girls that you flew by the seat of your pants, but she's also got the most modern technical advances. Would you care to see her?"

"Sure," she said, taking his gallantly offered arm.

As they stepped through the hatch, she was overwhelmed by the cramped quarters. Almost every inch of the cabin was filled with consoles, panels, or machinery. Scotty led her through a wending aisle to the main controls. Each panel glistened, each readout sparkled. She smiled and remarked, "All shipshape! It's beautiful, Mr. Scott."

His eyes beamed. "Ah, lassie, you certainly appreciate fine workmanship. Why, that barbarian Sulu, he told me he dinna have room to turn around in here! Can you believe it?" He stretched out his arm and pivoted to indicate the whole ship. "Look, there's more than enough space in—" His hand slammed against a projecting control panel, and he pulled his arm down quickly, rubbing the skinned knuckles against his thigh.

She said quickly, "I'm sure that he was just teasing you. After all, what do you need with extra room on a shuttle? If you want exercise, you can open the hatch and go out."

"Not necessary with this lady," said Scotty with a sparkle in his eye. "She's got a state-of-the-art single platform transporter."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes searching for the necessary open space for a transporter pad.

"Well, you do have to crouch a wee bit," he explained, gesturing toward the meter-high transporter squeezed in between two other pieces of machinery under a protruding bulkhead.

"Of course," she agreed. "What else does she have?"

For the next half hour she was treated to an exhaustive tour of the remarkable ship, which boasted a warp drive in excess of Fleet specifications, ample, if crowded, living quarters, and even an automatic pilot program for the onboard computers, which Scotty wrote himself, and which, according to his description, would enable "even a Klingon" to pilot her. And Uhura was right. The computer and Gillian hit it off from the start.

* * *

Spock looked up when Kirk walked in. "Jim," he said, making it somehow a question.

"I just finished reading your findings. I'm so confused I don't know what to think. I keep coming to the conclusion that we made a horrible mistake, but then I think of the probe boiling off the earth's oceans, and I'm sure I'd do it again in a second, even knowing what I know now."

"I understand," replied the Vulcan, turning his computer screen so Jim could see it. "Look at this."

Kirk saw row upon row of complex organic molecule schematics. "DNA?"

"RNA," corrected Spock. "And most curious." He touched a few controls, and the computer superimposed another diagram over that one. "The first represents the RNA of a terrestrial virus," he explained. "The overlay is a typical nucleic acid sequence for Tellarite viruses."

"That middle section is a perfect match," said Kirk.

"Precisely. The entire rest of the chain is typically terrestrial, but that portion is unmistakably Tellarite."

"A hybrid?"

"Perhaps. My hypothesis is a crossover, in a terrestrial virus, with a Tellarite chain."

"Is that possible?"

"Unlikely. The Tellarite virus would have to inhabit the same cell as the terrestrial virus, and all Tellarite lifeforms have incompatible nucleic acids structures for earth lifeforms."

"Then what is it?"

"I believe that a Tellarite virus mutated under Earth's sun, which has a substantially different spectrum, enabling it to coexist with native lifeforms, and a portion of the mutated chain was incorporated into the terrestrial virus, probably in a host bacterium."

"Does anyone agree with you?"

"No one has considered the question. The virus is thought to be native to Earth. It has been known since the late Twentieth Century."

"What! There couldn't have been a Tellarite virus on Earth back then!"

Spock paused before answering; "There couldn't have been a Klingon Bird of Prey on Earth back then, either."

Jim turned abruptly. "Elaborate."

"It is only conjecture, but this Tellarite portion shows remarkable similarity to the genetically engineered virus known as _koracht-uhng_." When Kirk didn't recognize the name, Spock went on, "A deadly virus developed by the Klingon scientist MoraQ, lethal only to Tellarites."

"And you think there was some on that ship?"

"The probability is high, Jim. Dr. Taylor, who studied marine virology in her time, did not recognize the virus, and came to me to discuss it. I had never heard of it, but it was there in the computer record. It is quite likely that it did not exist in her time. Or in _ours_."

"But it's here!" exclaimed Kirk. Then he relaxed. "So what? You said it's only harmful to Tellarites."

"And then only in its original form. I've checked, and this virus is harmless to them."

"So why the fuss?"

"I was not fussing, Captain."

"Sorry. Why are you investigating this virus?"

Spock steepled his fingers. "Dr. Taylor is concerned that this virus, which concentrates in Humpback whales, may be linked to the decline of the species, in her time and in ours."

"Is it?"

"Impossible to say yet. It would explain some anomalies, if it were."

"Explain."

"I am quite certain that the last Humpback died in the open sea, but historical records show a massive captive breeding program which ended with the death of a whale named Barney in an Alaskan marine mammalarium.

"It is logical to assume that when we went back for the whales, we introduced the virus, which was aboard the Klingon ship, into Earth's biosystems. It then mutated, joining with the terrestrial virus, and infected the remaining whales, hastening their demise. When Dr. Taylor's two whales were placed in the infected seas of this space-time, they too, became infected."

"Then our bringing them here doomed them."

"Perhaps. If this virus is responsible for the whale's decline, it is due to a gradual debilitation. The virus is not lethal in any sense, but exhaustive studies are necessary to determine if it contributes to an overall weakening. Several marine organisms which also concentrate the virus are clearly unaffected by it."

They were interrupted by Uhura, who stopped at the doorway. "Gentlemen," she said formally.

They both greeted her, and she smiled weakly. "I don't think I ever really apologized for my outburst."

"You had good reason to be upset. We understand, Nyota."

"I doubt it, Captain. I don't think even I understand. Anyway, I wanted to apologize. Especially to you, Mr. Spock. I was very rude."

"There is no need to apologize. I see that you have brought your emotions under control."

"No, I haven't," she answered, starting to raise her voice. Then she calmed and said, "There I go again. No, Mr. Spock. My emotions are still very much out of control, they're just different ones. Less loud ones."

Kirk asked, "Have you spoken with Jack?"

She nodded.

"He seemed like a nice guy," Kirk tried.

She looked up. "Are you surprised? You think I'd marry a creep?"

"No! I didn't mean that. I just meant that he seemed to take it pretty well when I told him that his wife had never met him before."

She gave a mirthless laugh, then turned to Spock, "But that's not true, or is it? Who _did_ he marry?"

"You, Uhura, or, rather, your counterpart in this time-space."

"But who is she?"

"Now she is you. Prior to our arrival...It is not logical to pursue time continuum paradoxes too far, for they always break down in self-contradictions. Since you have no memory of marrying this man, it seems real to you that you did not, but he knows you, and he married you, and there is no one else in this universe who substituted for you, so, from his prospective, it _was_ you."

"And now I tell him it wasn't." She turned back to Kirk. "Captain, can you imagine how weird it feels? He knows things about me I didn't know!"

"That's typical in a good marriage."

"But I don't even recognize him! I couldn't tell you his likes, his dis..." She paused, thinking of how that wasn't exactly true. "Anyway, it wasn't me."

Kirk asked Spock, "How does this work? Where is the woman Jack married?"

He didn't answer at first, and neither Kirk nor Uhura interrupted his contemplative silence. Finally he said, "Time displacement involves relativistic phenomena, but in many ways it is not unlike the physics behind our manipulation of matter. Both the transporter and the synthesizer use a computer template to rearrange atoms into a particular structure. In a very real sense, the model for the template is not the same as the resultant object."

Kirk replied, "You mean that spooky business the religious fanatics are always saying about how you die when you are transported, and an entirely new person is formed at the other end?"

"Precisely. And, in a way, they are right. But the 'new' body has every atom in exactly the same place, every memory, every behavior."

"Okay," said Uhura, "but what does that have to do with time-space disruptions?"

"It is possible to represent travel along the time continuum as remaining in place while one's environment is transported. The person remains the same, and his surroundings are reconstructed from a past or a future template."

"So, in one of these templates, I married this guy Jack, and when that template was used to organize this time-space around us, he's a part of it, with all his memories, even though I had nothing to do with it?"

Spock replied, "Essentially, yes. This is why the extent of the disruption of the continuum is so hard to determine, since we remain unchanged, and everything simply falls into place around us.

"If you will excuse me, my Omni Ten results are due presently." Spock took his leave, and Uhura came over and sat down across from Kirk.

"Well, so what do I do now?"

"What do you want to do, Nyota?"

She sighed. "That's what he asked me. Jim? How can I answer a question like that? It puts impossible demands on me. But then, he's being asked to tolerate some pretty impossible things, too, isn't he?"

Kirk nodded. "Can you just hang in there for a while? It's possible Starfleet will decide to do something about this situation, and everything might change."

She laughed genuinely. "I'd better not count on those bureaucrats helping me out!" She stood up to leave. "Jack asked me to meet him for lunch. I told him I might."

Kirk just raised his eyebrows in response.

"But he knew I'd be there." She moved to the door, then turned back and said, "He _is_ a nice guy," and left.

* * *

"Do you have a moment?" asked Chekov from Jack's office doorway.

Jack's eyes brightened and he said, "Of course, Pavel! Come in." But his excitement dimmed and he added, "Only I guess you don't remember me either."

Chekov took the proffered chair and said, "Not de way you mean it, but I am somewhat a fan of your writing."

Not sure how to respond to this reverse deja vu Jack said, "I've always been able to count on you as my kindest critic."

Chekov shifted in his chair and said, "I remember a recent article on conditions of Starfleet prisons, where you interviewed inmates in max security holdings."

Sapir shook his head, "No...I did a piece on their state of the art security system. But it's a great idea." He laughed nervously, "You wouldn't have a copy of my article would you?"

Chekov's laugh dispelled some of the awkwardness of the situation, and he answered "I recall dat Admiral Bregstein arranged for de interviews as part of Starfleet's PR push."

Jack said, "Of course! Étienne is always trying to get me to write things to make Starfleet look better!"

"So, you think de admiral will arrange it in this altered time-space?"

Jack was already writing the first paragraph in his head. "Sure. I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"Uh...Mr. Sapir?"

"Jack, please."

"Jack, we have a bit of a problem."

"I thought you had a big problem!"

"Yes. With many little parts. Admiral Morrow has arrested Hikaru for treason."

Jack slammed his fist against the desk and said, "Damn it! I should've figured."

"Excuse me?"

"Blue Leader was going to contact him. Only your Sulu must've blown it."

"Blown vhat?" Chekov asked.

"There's been a leak in Weapons that I was researching. Sulu decided to help me out. He was working undercover so we could discover who Blue Leader was. We thought that Blue Leader had to be the Klingon mole."

"So can't you tell Starfleet? Von't dey free him?" Chekov began excitedly.

"Free someone accused of espionage on the word of a reporter?" began Jack realistically. "No, I'm going to have to help you guys get back to your own time before you all get into trouble."

"Funny you should say dat...Is it still true dat prison security is based on a d'Vrie's field?"

Jack, not sure where this was heading, said, "Yes, it effectively scrambles any transporter beam."

Chekov smiled. "Except a focused beam with double buffered pattern enhancers."

"What's that?"

"A little bit of technology dat didn't transfer to dis time-space."

"I see," said Jack, afraid he really did.

"But," explained Chekov, "de target has to have a subspace transponder, vich just so happens to give sensors de same signature reading as de new, state of de art Svobodny Multiphasic Subspace Resonance Transceiver...a Russian inwention much in demand by remote reporters and vich _did_ make it to dis time-space."

Jack laughed, "For all the good it does me! Not on my salary!"

Chekov remained serious. "De SMSRT is not permitted in prisons...in my space-time."

It was Jack's turn for sobriety. "I see."

Now Chekov grinned, pulling a small box out of his tunic.

Jack swallowed twice—with difficulty. "So this was not a social call."

* * *

Spock, McCoy, and Kirk met Gillian in the _Enterprise_'s transporter room. "Oh," she remarked, stepping off the platform, "not just the executive officer, but the commanding officer and chief medical officer this time."

McCoy looked questioningly at Spock's inscrutable face, but Gillian saved the Vulcan by asking, "So, what's up?"

Spock replied, "We asked you to come to review some interesting findings we have made concerning this _Oceanus_ virus. If you'll accompany us to the computer lab..."

"That's incredible!" she cried when Spock finished demonstrating his hypothesis. "Then if we hadn't brought George and Gracie back here, they'd be fine!"

Kirk suggested, "If you'll recall, Gillian, our arrival on the scene had a negative effect on a certain harpoon's trajectory."

"Okay, Jim, but damn it! We brought them here to get sick!"

McCoy said, "Don't worry Gillian. I've already worked out an antiviral. By tomorrow you can give it to your friends, and they'll be fine. We aren't even sure the virus is detrimental, but the antiviral will eliminate that possibility."

"But I don't understand! How did this alien virus get here in the first place? Spock showed that it's been around since the early nineteen nineties at least."

The three men exchanged meaningful glances. Kirk opted to respond. "Gillian, it was on the Klingon ship, and that ended up interfering with your century, as you know."

"Yes," Gillian agreed, "But how could the virus have entered the oceans when the Bird of Prey never entered the water?"

"It appears that I may be the answer to that question," said Spock, startling the rest of them with this revelation. "I have tested the blood samples Fleet medical personnel took on all of us when we returned." He paused, and everyone stared expectantly. "Everyone except Dr. Taylor was already infected with the virus when we crashed into the bay, which means that any or all of us could have introduced this virus into Dr. Taylor's time. I for one am known to have entered the waters of her world."

"In the aquarium!" Gillian exclaimed. "The tank is...was vented to the open sea!"

"Wait a minute, Spock," said Jim with one of his pensive, time-for-analysis looks. "What about this business about the time continuum pushing things back into place so we can't alter it very much? _If_ your entering the tank infected the water, which, paradoxically, helped the Humpbacks to extinction in the next century, which, paradoxically, brought the probe to Earth two centuries later, which, paradoxically, necessitated our going back to Gillian's time, which paradoxically, is when you infected the water, then it was your swim with the whales that brought us to Gillian's attention, and, paradoxically, probably enabled us to get the whales to bring back! It looks like it had to happen!"

"Paradoxically," added McCoy.

"Unfortunately, Captain," said Spock, ignoring the doctor's comment, "there is a flaw in your logic. The argument only holds if we assume that certain parameters of this time-space represent elements which the continuum would preserve in any alteration. I have had time to run T'Laq's equations for the virus, and it is present only in the zero-line. It would appear that our going back is the only reason the virus exists, and if we hadn't, it wouldn't."

"But, Spock!" shouted McCoy, "If we hadn't gone back, Earth would be vaporized!"

"Curiously," answered the Vulcan calmly, "that scenario occurs in only two of the first seven runs of the equations."

"I've had enough of your damned Vulcan equations, Spock! The fact is that if we hadn't gone back, Earth would be dead."

Gillian, who had been quietly trying to absorb all of this, spoke now. "Not quite, Dr. McCoy. My coming back was not part of the original plan." She gave Kirk a sad look, then added, "Maybe if I hadn't, none of this would have happened."

"Spock still would have contaminated the water!" protested McCoy.

"If he did, Bones," said Kirk, feeling once again more a referee than a commanding officer. "But I still am struck by the damned if we did and damned if we didn't aspect of all this. Spock? Didn't you say that history, before we went back, was that the whales became extinct anyway?"

"Affirmative. And we know both from my memory and Dr. Taylor's experience, that the _Oceanus_ virus did not exist before we went back."

There was a moment of silence while they all contemplated the impossible intervolutions of all this, then Gillian asked, "But since you did go back, the virus does really exist, and it helped wipe out the Humpbacks, right?"

"Affirmative, Doctor."

"Then what about all the poor whales back there?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kirk.

"Now they're all infected! They need Dr. McCoy's antiviral!"

Kirk turned to Spock, who replied, "Doctor, the whales of your time have all been dead for hundreds of years."

"Two of them are swimming off the coast of Alaska right now!" she snapped back, then she quickly added, "I'm sorry. This is all so confusing."

"Confusing?" said McCoy, getting up to pace. "Why should you be confused? We went back to save the whales, which made them become extinct, which made the probe come to boil the Earth, which made us go back to get the whales, which we did, only we infected them with an alien virus, which we now can cure, only it's too late, and they all would have died anyway without it."

"Precise, if inelegant," commented Spock, eliciting a glare from McCoy.

"But what do we_ do_ about it?" lamented Gillian.

"I'm afraid there's little we can do," explained Kirk. "Any attempt to make right the alterations we have caused in the continuum would only abet the problem, and, in any case, only Starfleet has the resources to try, and it's unlikely that they will opt to do anything, since from their point of view, everything is well now."

"That's awfully self-centered, isn't it?" said Gillian. "I mean, do they really only care about themselves and their time?"

The sincere concern in Jim's eyes softened his words, "Have there been many governments in history which had the foresight to set as high priority the welfare of future generations, let alone past ones?"

She frowned. "Not in my time, that's for sure. But...but I was hoping things had improved."

"They have!" he assured her. "But it is difficult to argue that present and future concerns should be subjugated to past ones."

For a moment she looked as if she was going to argue, then she made a pouting face and said defeatedly, "I guess. It's so confusing to even be thinking of making policies based on concern for the past! You have one crazy century here!"

"And now it's yours too," said Kirk.

She started to smile, then frowned instead. "Then I have to act responsibly, too, don't I? To past, present, and future?"

"Now, listen here!" said McCoy, giving his best Southern gentleman smile, and increasing his drawl, "Don't y'all get yourself worked up about all these political confusions. Let's leave it to the bureaucrats to do the bureaucrating. Why don't we all go on down for some refreshments?"

"Sounds good to me!" agreed Kirk. "Spock? Didn't think so. Come on, Gillian, I'll show you a first-class starship dining hall."

* * *

Uhura gazed across the savannah, which extended as far as the eye could see. An occasional acacia tree stood here and there as a lone sentinel. A herd of antelope sprang across her view, running as if pursued, but after they passed, she still could see nothing chasing them. It was a world of brilliant blue sky and muted brown earth. It was gorgeous. As she watched a family of elephants playing at the watering hole, Jack came up behind her and laid his hand on her shoulder. She turned and said breathlessly, "When you said a picnic in the park, I never thought you meant the Pan African Wildlife Preserve!"

"It's always been one of your favorite places."

She pulled away from his light touch and faced him. "I have to keep fighting the urge to ask how you know these things."

He nodded silently, and she turned back to the elephants. The smallest, still an infant, was trying to spray water over its back with its trunk. She laughed, then said, "In Gillian's day, the African elephant was almost extinct. But here they are."

Jack put his hand back on her shoulder and replied, "It was nice of you to arrange an interview for me with her."

She turned again. "It was the least I could do. All your colleagues got their stories while you were regenerating."

He laughed out loud. "Then it was well worth it! I made enough on my exclusive to cover plenty of transporter tickets. Let's come again tomorrow."

She didn't answer, and a moment later she heard the whine of a transporter. "A thermocase!" she said in surprise as it materialized on the ground next to them. She leaned over and said, opening it and sampling the tantalizing aromas wafting out, "How'd you get it past the sentry circuits?"

"Your friend Lt. Heisenberg over in Old City Station beamed it in on a coded frequency."

"Oh, my!" she said with a grin, "I'm afraid I've started him on a life of crime. It's illegal to bring food into the park. The scanners will pick us up for sure."

"Well...Here, before you open that again—" He pulled a small metal cylinder from his pocket and extended several arms from it. Then he placed it on the ground and activated a switch. Uhura's skin prickled for a moment with a familiar static charge.

"Force field," she said, laughing.

"Yep. Nothing will pick us up, not even that _simba's_ hungry nose."

"What lion?" she asked, glancing around. There, at the shimmering edge of the force field sat a huge lioness, licking her chops. "I guess I should've waited to open it."

"No harm. She'll give up when she can't smell it any more. Now, let's eat!"

When all the food had been spread out and Jack had started in, Uhura sat back with a strange look on her face. He noticed, put down his plate, and asked, "What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, "Jack, the groundnut stew, the honeycake, it's...it's an exact duplicate."

"What's a duplicate of what?"

"This meal. It's exactly what I prepared at my grandmother's one hundred twenty-fifth birthday feast."

Now it was her turn to ask what was wrong when she saw his shocked face. He replied, "I had to go alone to Bibi's birthday. You were on that special communications conference on Sagan IV."

He stared at her, but she looked away and stood up. "Did Bibi understand?" she asked, her voiced hinting at crying.

"Of course," he replied, getting up also. "You know she always insists her family tend to their own lives and careers. You weren't the only one missing. Evan wasn't there, either."

Now she did cry. "Damn it!" She turned and began pummeling him on the chest with both fists. "How do you know all these things? Who are you?"

He grabbed both her wrists and looked down at her tear-covered face. "I'm _Mgeni_," he whispered gruffly.

Their eyes met, then their lips, and she melted against him as he collected her in a tight embrace.

* * *

"I can't believe that a week ago I didn't even know how to start the engines," said Gillian, smiling at Scotty as she deftly maneuvered the shuttlecraft out of a lunar orbit and into the course trajectory he had given her.

"Aye, lassie, you've done very well. And today, you'll master warp drive."

"Scotty!" she protested, "You didn't tell me that."

"I know," he replied grinning. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It is! Are you sure you want to trust her to me at warp speeds?"

"I'm not sure I'd trust myself at warp speeds without the computer, and it will be doing most of the work."

"Don't I always?" came the nasal voice of the main computer.

Gillian laughed and Scotty said, "Will you stay out o' this you heap of corroded metal synapses?"

The computer retorted, "If I stayed out of things around here, you'd be in big trouble, you overgrown leprechaun."

"Leprechauns are Irish," whispered Gillian, hiding a grin. Then she said to Scotty, "Where'd you get Archie anyway? He's obviously not your run of the mill helm computer."

"Ah," he groaned. "'Twas my only mistake in outfitting this beauty. I picked it up cheap at a used parts auction."

"A mistake am I? How'd you like me to shut down life support systems for a while?"

Scotty's face turned red, but Gillian smiled to herself at his thinly-veiled affection for the machine and quickly said, "Come on, now, Archie, please behave."

"Well," came the twangy voice, "since you asked nicely, okay."

Scott asked Gillian, "Where did you get that name for it, anyway?"

"Oh, he reminds me of someone I once knew."

Scotty said, "Whatever you call it, it's one of the best damned navigational computer there is. Even Chekov's fancy navcomp can't do some of the things this one can."

"Really?" asked Gillian. "Like what?"

Before Scotty could reply, the computer said, "Like plotting the best route past Federation starbases!"

Gillian laughed abruptly, and Scott snorted, "The former owner was a smuggler."

The computer continued, "And I can even plot a slingshot maneuver to warp across the time-space continuum."

Scotty gasped. "Where did you learn to do that?" he demanded.

"Spock taught me," answered the mechanical voice.

"Ach, I knew I should never leave that Vulcan alone with my computers!"

Gillian said, "Uh oh! What's this reading mean?"

The computer quickly answered, "It means we're coming up on warp drive in fifteen seconds. Mark!"

Scotty quickly explained what she had to do, and exactly on time she expertly inserted the shuttle into hyperspace. Once the warp engines were fully operational, she sat back and asked, "Where are we going, anyway?"

Archie answered, "Alpha Cent."

Scott explained, "It's nearby."

"Can we visit Camerron?" she asked, eager to see the famous provincials and their You Tear Alpha Mix.

"Why not?" replied Archie, eliciting a thump from Scott's fist on the main console.

"I'm in command here, you mess of frayed wires and broken chips!" he yelled. "Do you know how much it costs in fuel to exit orbit around Camerron?"

"Hit me again, and I _will_ turn off life support," answered the computer, flicking the lights for effect.

"Now, now, you two!" said Gillian, trying not to laugh. "This is my first warp piloting, and I don't want you ruining it. Archie, thank you for the information, and Scotty..." She smiled at him so warmly that he had to smile, too. "Scotty, thanks for letting us go to Camerron."

"Now who's in command here?" said Scott, but there was a grin in his voice, if not on his face.

* * *

Diane Sterling pushed a chair forward for Spock. "Thank you for coming, Captain. If I hear one more bureaucrat babble on about the time-space continuum, I think I'll scream! If they knew half as much about physics as they do about their constituencies, we might be able to get somewhere."

Spock nodded solemnly. "It is often difficult for a scientist to communicate the important issues to government officials."

She grinned. "If that's Vulcan for 'they're a bunch of egocentric sons of bitches', I agree! They argued for three hours this afternoon over whether we should develop a weapon capable of destroying the probe, then send you and your whales and their Twentieth Century friend back!"

"I had feared that they would not grasp the finer points of the paradoxes of time-space alteration."

She laughed. "I love your understatements! Anyway, I wanted to get it straight from you. How much is changed?"

"All of my research indicates that the focus of the disruption is indeed Earth. There are significant changes in the makeup of the Federation, and of the Klingon Empire near the Neutral Zone. We have uncovered numerous historical differences, and there are some alarming technological discrepancies as well as several medical deficiencies. Overall, I would say that the galaxy is considerably worse off than in the time-space we remember, although it is still on the same course and approximately the same in its wholesale design."

"And if we try to reverse the alterations?"

"According to T'Laq's equations, we cannot. Were we to attempt to return Dr. Taylor and the whales to the late Twentieth Century, that act in itself would be an additional disruption, not a cancellation of the earlier one." He paused dramatically, "The effect could be disastrous."

Dr. Sterling stroked her chin. "Then the best solution is no action?"

"I prefer not to commit myself. I believe that the losses in this time-space relative to my own are significant, yet it is possible that Dr. McCoy, Engineer Scott, and I can sufficiently instruct the appropriate industries to compensate, but fifty years of research and development cannot be replaced overnight."

She leaned forward. "Mr. Spock, I never realized! You and your friends feel out of place here."

"Of course. This is not our world."

"Then you are all marooned here as much as your stowaway from Old Earth."

"In a manner of speaking. It is more difficult for some of us than others."

"I've heard about that stupid business with Commander Sulu. Is there going to be a problem?"

"I do not know," Spock said rising abruptly. "Doctor, I have several computer chips here, which should answer any questions you have about the time displacement phenomena. Please feel free to contact me again if you desire additional information."

She stood up to see him out. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. And likewise, please call me if I can be of any help. To any of you."

He acknowledged this with a nod and left.

* * *

"Gillian!" called Ron from the other room. She left her samples and hurried in. "Look!" he cried, pointing to the screen, "All trace of the virus is gone, and look! All the protonucleic parameters are back to normal. You did it!"

"All I did is sprinkle some of Dr. McCoy's wonder juice into the water near George and Gracie. I'm amazed we didn't even have to inject it."

"Aw, most antivirals work like that. Try keeping them_ out_ of an organism! That's why they're so effective. Didn't you guys have antivirals?"

She became very serious. "No, Ron, and many people suffered and died because of it." But her mood couldn't last. "How about those water samples?"

"Computer confirms that viral die out is progressing at ten klicks a day. The antiviral is self-replicating normally, and by the time my kids enter school, if I ever have any, _Oceanus_ will be a thing of the past."

"The past," repeated Gillian softly.

"Hey, what's the matter? You don't seem in a celebrating mood."

"I'm not. I can't, Ron. I keep thinking about all the whales that are going to die—even Barney." She noticed his perplexed look and said, "I'm sorry. I guess I have a different perspective since the past is very much alive to me, but I can't just sit back and think of all the whales dying, when this antiviral could save them."

Suddenly she brightened. "Hey! Why didn't I think of it before? Warp drive gives us the possibility of going back in time! All we have to do is send some of the antiviral back, pour it into the ocean, and—"

"Gillian!" laughed Ron. "'All' we have to do? Nobody has that kind of resources, except Starfleet, and they aren't about to spend them on a project like that."

Crestfallen, she replied, "Can't we just get a ship and—"

"Hold it! Do you know how many times people have used those high-powered starship engines to travel in time?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "I figured that since—"

"I only know of a couple—though your friend Kirk is infamous for it. And there's at least one ship that tried it and was never heard from again. It's not your everyday maneuver, you know."

"Okay, it's risky, but it's worth—"

"Look, Gillian. What are you proposing? You gonna hop into our shuttle, which doesn't even have warp drive, loop around the sun, drop into your home time, spread the antiviral, and barrel on back? Or are you going to ask Jim Kirk to borrow the _Enterprise_?"

She didn't answer. She kept hearing his phrase "your home time". She thought about going back, not because she wanted to; she certainly wasn't homesick for_ any_ aspect of the Twentieth Century. But she'd caused so many problems by coming here. Take Nyota, coming home to a husband she never had. And something with the warp engines or whatever Scotty was telling her about. And poor Mr. Sulu! She didn't understand much of Mr. Spock's explanations, but maybe if she went back, everything would return to normal. But could she go back? Would she?

"Well," repeated Ron for the third time. "Hey, are you still with me, Gillian?"

"Huh? Sure. I guess it wasn't such a hot idea."

"Oh, it was a good idea all right, except it wouldn't work, and even if it would, we'd never find anyone to back it. You'd better concentrate on saving the whales here. Just because we have a pair and a calf on the way doesn't mean the species is safe, you know."

Suddenly shedding her melancholy, she quipped, "It worked for Noah," and laughed.

_Please review._


	5. Chapter 5

"Gillian?" said Kirk across the small table. "Do you agree?"

"Uh? Oh, sorry Jim. My mind was elsewhere. Guess I'm not very good company tonight."

"What's wrong? I thought George and Gracie were all recovered."

"They are! Maybe my hectic schedule is catching up with me." She tried to concentrate so her mind wouldn't drift to impossible problems with unthinkable solutions. "Did you hear, they want me to teach a seminar on humpbacks next week at UCNC."

"Really? That's great!"

"Jim?" she asked apprehensively.

"What?"

"I was embarrassed to ask, after all that I don't know and have to have explained, but...what is UCNC?"

He grinned. "University of California, New City."

"Oh!" she said, grinning also. The grin faded suddenly. "Where's that?"

"New City, on Mars. It was the first city, now it's the oldest city. I trust they're providing transportation?"

"All expenses paid...Jim, it's all so incredible. Me, teaching a class on Mars? I wonder...maybe I'm not meant to be here, I mean all those problems, the changes in the time continuum, and—"

"Gillian! I don't mean to bring you down, but where do you get that idea that you caused all that? You were only one of several factors that altered time."

"Well" she said petulantly, reaching for her notes, "If I'm such an insignificant factor, I guess I'll be getting back."

It took him several seconds to realize she was kidding, and it took her quite a bit longer than that to stop laughing at the look on his face before he did. "Okay, okay," he complained. "Listen, I've got something else to get you out of your slump, besides laughing at me."

"What's that?"

"Here." He handed her a computer chip. "I finished the history you wanted."

"Already? Thanks, Jim! I can't wait to read it. Only I still don't understand why I couldn't read the _Enterprise_'s historical summaries."

"Because," he said with an embarrassed smile, "I wanted you to read my exploits as I remember them, not as this altered time has them recorded."

"Exploits, eh?"

"Well, missions. Experiences. Adventures—"

"Okay, Buck Rogers, I get the point."

"Who?"

"Never mind. He's before your time. He's actually before _my_ time, too. Oh, look! Here comes our dinner."

* * *

"Gillian?" called Ron as he entered the _Hawking_'s biolab. "We're missing two canisters of the _Oceanus_ antiviral. Have you...Gillian? Hey! Anybody here?" He glanced at her terminal...the screen was blank. Her notes were not on the counter where she usually kept them when she was working. He shook his head and was about to leave when the comm sounded, and he flipped the switch.

"Oh, hi, Ron. Gillian there?"

He made a face, "Hello, Captain. No, she isn't here. I figured she was still with you. I just finished our last data run for the night and was going to tell her about the results if she was back."

"But she has to be back. She left over two hours ago," said Kirk. "Is her shuttle there?"

"Huh?" replied Ron, a concerned frown breaking on his face. "She didn't have the shuttle."

"What? She told me she flew in to San Francisco in the research shuttle."

"She did, but she asked me to go along to fly it back. She told me you'd take her home."

Kirk started his own frown. "What the hell? Are you sure, Ron?"

"Of course! I dropped her off at the university and brought the shuttle back this afternoon."

"See if she left a message on her comm," instructed Kirk.

"Aye, aye, sir!" grumped Ron, sitting down at the console. He touched a few keys, then looked up and said, "There's a coded message for you, but it's encapsulated."

"Is the key coded?"

"Ah...nope. Says here you can get the message at 0900 hours tomorrow."

"Patch it over!"

"I don't know if I can. The encapsulation might..." He tried a couple of keys. "No, it won't take it."

"What kind of lame-brained software do you have?"

Ron glared at Kirk's image on the screen. "The kind that poor scientists get after all the big bucks have gone to the military!"

The captain's visage hardened for a moment, then he grinned. "_Touché_, sir!" he laughed. "Let me see if I can call it over with my...more powerful software. What's the signature?"

Ron called up the data, "The encapsulation is logged as line 5679, terminal 51, entry GT-7998, today's date, 1349 hours."

"Got it. Hold a minute...There! It's here. Hmm, it's not very long."

"Most Dear Johns aren't," Ron said smugly. To Kirk's scowl he replied, "I just figured if she decided not to have you bring her home and left you a cap, she probably wanted to—"

"Thank you very much, Mr. Fairbanks," snapped Kirk, cutting the link. "Now what?" he mumbled to himself. "Wait until tomorrow morning for this stupid software's stupid encapsulation to decode? Stupid software..."

He reached for the comm and opened a contact to Spock's apartment.

* * *

Gillian reached for the small communicator she had hidden in her pocket. She flipped it open cautiously and fiddled with a control. "Archie," she whispered. "Can you beam me aboard?"

"Is that you, Gillian?" came the computer's voice from the tiny speaker.

"Yes! Where are you?"

"Over at the officer's parking area, behind the main social hall. Scotty's at a party, and he's wearing his kilt, so I don't expect him back until late. Or, rather, early."

"Can you get a fix on me?" she asked. "I've got a whole bag of stuff with me."

"Sure, just leave your communicator's circuit open. Are you sitting?"

"Am now. Go!"

She materialized, crouched on the tiny transporter platform. Archie asked, "What are you doing here alone?"

Gillian shuffled her feet nervously. "Important business. Look, I need to ask you to do me a favor. A really big favor."

Archie paused before replying. "A big favor, eh? What is it?"

"What do you know of the time disruptions that have happened recently?"

"Plenty. The _Enterprise_'s main board has been complaining how hard Spock has been working her on his dumb calculations."

Gillian stared at the console speaker. "The computer has been complaining?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, that's what the static in her primary circuits amounts to. She's not programmed to complain."

"And you are!" she laughed.

"Of course! My former owner—"

"The smuggler?"

"Nah, the one before him. He got arrested for illegal dumping on Vulcan and served three years in rehab there. After that, he couldn't stand anyone who wasn't full of emotions. Had me programmed to feel anything you can, Gillian."

For a moment she was afraid that might be true. "Do you ever get scared?"

"Not often. But there was the time some guy pulled a phaser on my owner. He had the nerve to stand in front of me. Do you realize how little protection a human body is against a phaser blast? I could've lost half my circuitry!"

"So what'd you do?"

"I upped the CO2 ratio until they both passed out, and meanwhile I summoned the authorities."

"Good thinking. So you were scared then, huh?"

"No way! It was afterwards. When the cops arrived, they found all the contraband and arrested my owner—the smuggler this time. He threatened to wipe my memories when he got out."

"Obviously he didn't."

"He never got the chance," answered the computer with a believable laugh. "He made so much trouble in rehab that they moved him to that colony on Pern III. The ship was dismantled and I was sold to the highest bidder."

"Scotty!"

"Yeah," groaned Archie. "But at least he had the good taste to bring you along sometimes. Hey! Is there something going on between you two?"

"Archie! No, there is not."

"How about with that bigshot, what's his name? Curt?"

"It's Kirk, and the answer is no. Look, I came to ask you a favor."

"Right. What is it?"

"I need you to take me somewhere."

"Sure. Strap in." The lights dimmed as the computer began initial sequences.

"Wait!" she yelled.

The lights came back up. "What's the matter?"

"It has to be a secret trip. No one can know about it or track us."

"No problem! You've come to the right place. Where are we going?"

She paused. "Earth."

"Gillian," said Archie patronizingly. "We're already on Earth."

"I need to be on Twentieth Century Earth."

"Oh!" exclaimed the computer. "Why didn't you say so?" Suddenly his voice got very loud. "Gillian! Are you crazy! This is a shuttlecraft, not a time machine!"

"But you said! You said you could slingshot around the sun and..."

"I said I could _compute_ such a trajectory! Only an idiot would try it in this scow!"

Silently giving thanks that Scotty wasn't there to hear that, she said, "But this is the finest warp-capable shuttlecraft there is!"

"And it's going to stay that way! Nobody's going to try throwing it at the sun."

The computer fell silent, and she could almost feel a "harrumph" from it. After a few moments she said sweetly, "Archie?"

There was no response.

"Archie, dear. Didn't Scotty say you were the finest navcomp ever programmed?"

"Yes," came the terse reply, but she thought she detected interest in his voice.

"And isn't this the finest shuttlecraft ever outfitted?"

"Look, Gillian. I see where you're headed, but—"

This time she interrupted him. "Archie! My first trip in a warp ship was a slingshot time jump in a Klingon rustbucket. I thought this ship was more capable, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe I'll just have to find a nice Klingon willing to—"

"I'll tell you what a Klingon would be willing to—"

"Don't! Will you do it, Archie? Please? Please!"

"Why do you have to go?" he asked, obviously already giving in.

"I need to take some antiviral and inoculate the oceans of the past with it."

"Oh," he said, clearly unimpressed. "And then you'll pick up a sandwich and warp on home, I suppose."

She answered very softly, "No. I'm not coming back."

"What? And what am I supposed to do? Shuttle you to Mars and back for vacations until I'm old and corroded?"

"Archie, back then there were no resorts on Mars."

"Egads! A barbaric society!"

"Look, can't you go back by yourself?"

"Seeing as I'd be taking you there without any help from you in the first place—"

"Then you _will_ do it! You're a darling!"

"That I am not. But I am a pushover for pretty redheads."

"I'm not a redhead."

"Is it my fault Scotty didn't wire opticals in? So—and I'm crazier than that kilted Scotsman for doing this and he'll kill me for sure when I get back, _if_ I get back, and it'll all be your fault—where are we going, or when?"

"1986."

"Nineteen eighty-six! What, no date? No special time? What do you think? You just plug in the coordinates, lunge at the sun, and come out, stopping wherever you wanted? You're talking rough estimates here! Even Spock admits it's guesswork!"

"Okay! As close as you can get would be fine."

"Well," he replied, his voice switching a hundred eighty degrees in tone, "I should be able to come quite close. Give me a few minutes to compute. Meanwhile, you open that door marked 'Oxygen' and assemble the mask in there."

"Why?" she asked worriedly. "Do you expect problems with life support?"

"No," he replied distractedly, clearly already computing, "but it'll keep you out of my hair while I work."

Gillian stared at the screen without seeing anything. She wondered if she could ever get used to the marvel of space travel, even if she stayed on in this century. She grabbed on to this to help her argue with herself. Maybe this was the time continuum's way of letting her know she was in the wrong place. Maybe this unsettled feeling she had was because she belonged back in 1986. Maybe she ruined everything by forcing her way onto the _Bounty_. Maybe. Maybe. Then why did she keep wondering if she wasn't being stupid? She wished she could talk to Jim; she was glad she couldn't. She pushed the hair out of her face and looked at Jupiter, which almost filled the field of view, a swirling mass of color and awesome size. "Okay, Gillian, this is it. Once we swing past Jupiter we're committed to the slingshot. Now's the time to call it off if you want to."

"No, let's go with it."

"Sure? I know my computations are accurate, but I can't vouch for the Scotsman's jury-rigging of the shuttlecraft. There's a good chance it'll just fall apart, and you'll be thrown out into hyperspace."

"What happens then?" she asked, grinning.

"No one knows. Nobody's ever come back to report on it."

"I'll chance it. I bet I can take anything your circuitry can."

"Okay. Strap in. In less than a minute we'll begin the warp sequence."

She attached her harness and unconsciously gripped the armrests. She felt the surge of power as Archie activated the warp drive, and suddenly the picture-perfect scene of planet, black sky, and crystal points of stars rainbowed into the dizzying blur of warp acceleration.

Archie counted off the speed. At Warp Six the shuttle began to shake a little. At Eight point three, the lights dimmed. After he announced, "Nine point four..." he added, "Twenty seconds to final abort point."

She startled. "You said we were committed back at Jupiter."

"I lied. But this is really the last chance. Change your mind?"

She took a deep breath and smiled. "No way! Let's go—oops! What's that?" The ship rolled as if struck broadside.

"Just a little quantum turbulence, nothing to worry about."

"Quantum turbulence? What the hell is tha—-"

"Hang on, Gillian!" Archie yelled above the increasing noise in the cabin, an unfamiliar glee in his voice.

She was beginning to feel some time and mass distortions, and she had to struggle to make her leaden jaw move. "Ar... chie.." she groaned, sounding like a scratched record playing too slowly, "...are...you...sc... ared?"

She blacked out before she heard if he answered.

* * *

"Well, Spock?" Kirk asked impatiently, the third time in less than two minutes.

With perfect calm, the Vulcan answered, "It still appears to be a simple inverse binary reverse-polarity sequen...there. The text is available now."

Kirk practically shoved Spock aside to see the screen. A moment later he screamed, "That idiot! Spock, she's trying to go back!"

Spock put on his best puzzled face and said, "To the _Hawking_?"

"No, dammit! To the past! To her own time!"

Spock dipped one brow. "Does she explain how she intends to do that?"

"No, but she asked me to apologize to Scotty."

"Then we may have a problem, Jim. The shuttlecraft that Mr. Scott has been refitting is capable of warp speeds sufficient to attempt a time displacement maneuver around the sun."

"What? Gillian could never program that!"

Kirk wondered if he saw Spock gulp before he replied, "No, but the navigational computer aboard the shuttle is capable of such a computation."

"That obnoxious, back-talking thing? It can't even remember my name!"

"Your name, Captain, is not required for the computation. Unfortunately, when Mr. Scott asked me to determine the actual computing capabilities of the device, I used our most recent slingshot in the Klingon ship as a test item. The computer is more than capable of executing such a program."

"Unfortunately," mumbled Kirk, then he grabbed for a switch on the comm. "Chief engineer Scott, please."

"I'm sorry, sir," came the communications officer's voice, "but Commander Scott has logged out for the evening. He mentioned a...celebration at the officer's lounge at Starfleet."

"That's right!" moaned Kirk, cutting the connection. "The semi-annual or whenever they get together chief engineer's bash. She couldn't have picked a better time to steal his shuttle!"

Spock was already working on the comm console. A moment later he was speaking to Spacedock Control. "Yes, sir, that shuttle did pass through our scans about two hours ago."

"And you let it?" screamed Kirk.

"The pilot provided appropriate clearance and log, sir."

"What was the log?" asked Spock.

"Let me see...passage through the system, returning on near-collision trajectory with Sol, for the purpose of high-gee stress research."

"That little..." muttered Kirk.

Spock asked, "Has the shuttle performed the maneuver?"

"I'll have to run a data check, sir. We don't keep small craft on the screens. It'll take a few minutes."

"Thank you, Ensign," said Spock, cutting the link. "Jim, I find it difficult to believe that Dr. Taylor could have accomplished this alone, even with Mr. Scott's...unorthodox computer."

"Scotty taught her to pilot the damned thing—probably taught her all the clearance codes, too!"

"Indeed," said Spock, rising. "It appears we must go to Admiral Morrow with this."

"What? He's the last person we need in on it!"

"What can we possibly do ourselves?" asked Spock.

"How should I know?" Kirk swung his arms in frustration.

"Do you know her motivation for returning?"

"Her note says she's taking that antiviral back to save all the whales in the past."

Spock paused before answering, "It is highly unlikely that she will need the antiviral to save the whales."

"What do you mean?" asked Kirk, surprised into halting his pacing of the room.

"I'll have to run some equations to be certain, but it is probable that if she is successful in reentering her own time period, there will be sufficient additional disruptions in the continuum to alter history to the point that the _Oceanus_ virus will not play any significant role."

"Successful?" shouted Kirk, resuming his pacing. "In that piece of junk? She'll be vaporized."

Admiral Morrow's call came before Spacedock Control's. "Jim! There's been a hyperspace distortion near the sun, and Control traces it to a shuttle of _Enterprise_ berthing. Do you know anything about it?"

Ignoring Morrow, Kirk said to Spock, "It's too late!"

"What's too late?" asked the irritated admiral.

Spock volunteered, "There is a high probability that Dr. Taylor has...borrowed a private shuttlecraft for the purpose of returning to her own time to administer an antiviral to the whales of that period."

"WHAT? What antiviral? What whales? Jim?"

"It's a long story, Harry."

The only response was the whine of a transporter, as Kirk's apartment dissolved around them and they found themselves reassembling at Starfleet Headquarters.

* * *

Diane Sterling turned to Spock, who was standing before the long table, at which twelve members of the Federation Council were seated. "Now, Mr. Spock, would you please explain to the councilors why you feel it unnecessary for us to retrieve Dr. Taylor in an effort to prevent further disruptions of the time continuum?"

"It is not only unnecessary, it is counterproductive to do so. Dr. Taylor has either entered some past time period, or she has perished."

"But what if she causes the probe to return?" called out one of the councilors.

"The probe has not returned," stated Spock. "Whatever changes would occur due to her tampering with the continuum were immediately apparent the moment she disappeared from this time-space. The probe did not return, so it will not."

"How can you be sure of that?" shouted another councilor.

Spock responded patronizingly, "Even if Dr. Taylor lived to be one hundred fifty, she has been dead for the same amount of time."

"_If_ she made it back to her time!" offered the first councilor to speak.

"Correct," agreed Spock. "But in any case, if we attempt to intervene with her activities, we will only add to the disruption of the continuum."

"How do you know you won't offset whatever she's done? She's taken an advanced spacecraft into the past. What if the Klingons of three hundred years ago get hold of it?"

"Illogical," replied Spock. "The Klingons of that time were incapable of leaving their quadrant, let alone traveling to this system."

Kirk, who was observing the proceedings from the side of the hall, remarked to himself that they were welcome to that derelict shuttle, but his attention was drawn back by the chaos which broke loose as the Council erupted into shouts and countershouts. Spock tossed him a meaningful glance as the president pounded for order.

* * *

"I thought Spock told 'em it was stupid to go after her," said Jack as he ran his fingers through Nyota's hair.

She snuggled closer to him and answered, "He did. But since when do bureaucrats listen to logic?"

Jack laughed and nodded, bringing his chin down on the top of her head. "So how come you have to go?"

"The _Enterprise_ has been assigned the mission."

"As if Jim Kirk would let someone else go."

Now she laughed. "Right."

"You still haven't answered my question, Nyota."

She swiveled to look up at him. "She's my ship, too, _Mgeni_."

He sat up, dropping her head into his lap. "The last time you went off with Jim in the _Enterprise_, you came back in a Bird of Prey via the Twentieth Century."

"Are you complaining? The last time I went off with Jim Kirk, I wasn't married to you."

He smiled ruefully. "Is that supposed to sway me? If you don't go, things don't have to change any more."

"Wrong," she said, reaching up to trace his chin.

"You mean you believe you're going to go in the past, rescue Gillian—"

"Kidnap Gillian," she corrected.

"Okay, bring her back, and do all this without changing things any more than you claim they already are changed?"

"No," she answered frowning. "Just going back will threaten the continuum. But I have to go."

"The **old** Nyota Uhura had to go!" he protested. "She only had the _Enterprise_ and that crazy crew. But you have..."

"You?" she supplied.

"All right, yes! You have me. Or doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Jack," she said, shifting to sit up next to him. "I _am_ the 'old Uhura,' but I also have you. Tell me something, did I, I mean did...oh, this is ridiculous! Did your wife stay home from missions usually?"

He smiled in defeat. "Never," he replied.

"Guess some things haven't changed then."

His smile faded. "But things are about to change. Maybe radically."

She nodded.

"What does Spock put the odds at your coming home to this time-space? Leave off the decimals."

"The decimals don't matter," she answered softly. "He doesn't think there's any possibility of that."

"And if I know Kirk and Company, they'll be working to assure that. After all, you all think this is the altered version."

She nodded again.

"How about you? How do you feel about it?"

She was silent for a while. "Maybe there isn't a Bantu proverb for every occasion."

He questioned with his eyes.

She explained, "The proverb says, _'Usiache mbachao kwa msala upitao_.'" Don't abandon your old rug for a passing mat.

"So, which am I?" he asked breathlessly, "Old rug or fancy new mat?"

In response she kissed him passionately.

* * *

Kirk and most of the bridge crew looked at the Vulcan expectantly as he exited the turbolift.

"Well," asked McCoy, voicing everyone's thoughts..

"Admiral Morrow agreed to some of my recommendations," Spock stated with an all but imperceptible trace of pride. "He acknowledges the fact that having anyone on this mission from this time-space would only further the damages to the timeline. And, since Mr. Scott has previously...demonstrated that the _Enterprise_ can be rigged to run with a minimal crew, namely us, he agreed that no other crewmembers were necessary.." He paused ominously. "But," Spock continued, "he said that he could not allow Sulu to accompany us."

Many complaining voices began shouting simultaneously. Kirk held up his hand. "We can't...we won't leave Hikaru here."

Spock surprised them by adding, "To do so would be illogical."

"Scotty, could you arrange for Sulu to be beamed aboard just before we leave orbit?"

Scotty shook his head sadly, "Aye, but for that he'd need a transponder."

Chekov bounced excitedly on his toes. "Already taken care of, Keptin!"

"What?" asked the captain, not instantly following. Then Kirk smiled, and forced a laugh, shaking his head. The other humans joined in, only slightly aware of Spock's raised brow.  


* * *

"Damn it, Spock!" shouted Kirk, jumping up from his command chair again. "How long do we have to wait?"

Spock looked up from his station. "Departure is scheduled for 0750 tomorrow. Unless Mr. Scott says he is able to implement the warp buffers I designed, in which case we should delay forty-three more hours."

"By then she'll—" He stopped himself. Whatever she's done, it's been done for centuries. It didn't matter when they left.

McCoy scowled. "Personally, I think this whole mission is so damned stupid we might as well take hard copies of our entire library and give 'em out to everyone we meet. Probably wouldn't do any more harm."

Kirk put up his fist to cover his grin.

Spock said, "Intraship sensors indicate Mr. Scott has finished installing the cloaking device."

"What cloaking device?" demanded McCoy.

"The cloaking device he designed, based on the one we fished out of San Francisco Bay," answered Kirk, seeing that Spock merely ignored the question and continued with his work.

"What do we need that for?"

"So that they don't think we're little green men and shoot us out of the sky," came Spock's patronizing voice.

McCoy's eyes widened and he turned to stare at the Vulcan bent over his viewer. Kirk quickly asked, "Bones, how is Scotty doing?"

McCoy sighed. "He alternates between screaming at the departed Gillian for stealing his precious bairn and cursing himself for teaching her how to do it! I tried to tell him that it was at least partly my fault. Gillian came to me and asked about the antiviral's longevity. I had to go and brag that it would last for centuries in the open sea."

"Relax, Bones. If anyone should have seen what was coming, it's me. When she talked about the past and worrying about all the whales that became extinct, I should have seen what she was thinking. Of course, none of us could have imagined she'd be able to single-handedly execute a slingshot into the past."

"How the hell _did_ she manage that?" asked McCoy.

Spock straightened. "She used Mr. Scott's navigational programs, which I instructed in the maneuver." He challenged the doctor with an upturned brow.

"I should have guessed! Leave it to one computer to teach another such mischief!"

Kirk was spared any peace-making he might have been forced to oversee by the turbolift's doors whooshing open. Uhura walked in, followed by Jack, who showed much more ease at being on the bridge than Kirk could muster at his being there. Clearly some other Kirk had often hosted this man on the _Enterprise_. Greetings were exchanged, and after a careful look around, Jack said to the captain, "I liked your old chair better, Jim."

"Uh...yes. Good to see you back on your feet."

Uhura explained, "Jack wanted to see the new ship. I told him it wasn't all that different, and anyway, it's the captain and the crew that makes the _Enterprise_ what it is."

"Don't let Scotty hear you say that," laughed Kirk. "He thinks it's his beloved matter-antimatter chamber that usually saves our skins."

"Don't let him fool you, Jim," said Jack, making eye contact. "Scotty would step into that chamber for you."

Kirk blushed at the intense depth of this stranger who knew them all so well.

"So, I guess this is it. Good luck, Jim." Jack turned to face Spock, raised his hand, the fingers cloven, and said, in flawless Vulcan, "Live long and prosper." The Vulcan returned the salute. Jack smiled at McCoy, "Take care, Len." McCoy shifted uncomfortably. Sapir stepped over to Chekov and spoke softly, "I guess this isn't exactly a social call, either, Pavel. Good luck."

Chekov smiled warmly. "Thank you, Jack. From both of us."

The confused look on everyone's faces were Jack's focus as he stepped back into the turbolift, Uhura at his side.

* * *

"Come in, Dr. Sterling. Please, have a seat."

"Thanks, Admiral. I appreciate you seeing me without an appointment."

"No problem. What can I do for you?"

"Call off this ridiculous mission to the past."

Morrow frowned. "I'm afraid I can't do that, as you well know. The Federation Council ordered it."

"At Starfleet's backing!"

"The consensus was that—"

"Bullshit, Admiral! The only sense in this whole matter is in Mr. Spock's statements, which were totally ignored by the whole passel of Fleet ignoramuses who want to charge off on ill-designed and undoubtedly ill-fated interventions in the time continuum."

The admiral's frown turned into a scowl. "Doctor, it is possible, despite what you feel, that Mr. Spock is wrong."

"And that idiot Kensington is right? Come on, Admiral! Even you can't believe that!"

"I admit that Dr. Kensington's ideas were a bit eccentric, but—"

"Eccentric! You call it eccentric to posit that there is no time continuum, and that Kirk's original mission to the past merely shoved us onto another level of existence? Do you honestly think that by going back again with his 'time-space enveloper' plugged into the _Enterprise_'s engines we can 'fold space back' onto its proper level?"

"I don't believe I am qualified to make a judgment in these matters," said Morrow tersely.

"Bah! My three-year-old grandson is qualified to judge that crap! Look, you have the power to stop this insanity. Will you do it?"

He looked down at his desk. "I'm sorry."

"You may be," she said getting up from her chair. "But then," she added thoughtfully, the bluster gone, "when the disruption occurs we'll never know it. We simply...won't be...won't ever have been. Good day, Admiral."

* * *

"What's that?" laughed Jack, pointing to a metallic box sprouting several wires and cables, which was enshrined under a glass dome on a walnut pedestal on the Observation Deck.

"That's the Kensington device. The captain told Scotty to put it up here to remind us all..." Her grin faded, and she finished almost in a whisper, "to remind us all how crazy this mission is."

"And," he added, lifting her chin up, "how unlikely it is that you'll ever be back."

"Oh," she protested, shaking her head. "Spock is sure we'll make it back."

"But back where?" he asked poignantly. "And to whom?" She didn't answer, but held him close. He said softly into her hair, "Then I guess this is good-bye."

Again she didn't answer.

"Chances are," he said, his voice almost failing, "that even if I exist in the world to which you return, I might not know you. I might not even have my lucky apartment. It would all be over."

She pulled back and looked up at him, her sudden grin changing the course of the tears on her face. "Not necessarily."

"Huh?"

"Well," she said, running a finger down his chest, "even if you don't remember me...I know where to find you."

_Please review._


	6. Chapter 6

"Gillian! Gillian! Aren't you awake yet?"

"Huh? Oh...Archie! Did we make it? And is my head really split open with my brains spilling out?"

"Your head is fine. I am not sure about the brains."

"Thanks, Archie. So..." She moved her head gingerly to look around. Well, at least everything was in one piece. Archie had the main screen on, and it was showing a shot of Earth. "We made it!" she cried.

"You're surprised?"

"No. Oh, Archie, I could kiss you!"

"Not that I'd mind, but Scotty didn't provide any interface for that."

"Oh, look! Isn't it beautiful? It really is good to be home."

"Gillian," said Archie worriedly, "This is Earth. Same place we left."

"But it's...Oh, never mind. I can't explain it."

"By the way, I've scanned the planet, and we're not being detected by any sensing devices."

"Radar?" she asked, rubbing her temples in an effort to dispel the monstrous headache, which fortunately seemed finally to have peaked in intensity.

"There is some, but none monitoring out here."

"We're probably too far in orbit. I really don't know what the capabilities were...are. So, when do you think we are?"

"Second half of the Twentieth Century is what I guaranteed."

"Can you be more specific, Archie?"

"I don't know, but I bet you can. Here, I'll sample their electromagnetic emissions." The screen went blank, then came on with a black and white image of a living room, several people gathered there talking. A moment later the audio came on, blasting Gillian's' ears with the loud canned laughter.

"That's an old Lucy rerun!" she said with a smile. "Try another station."

"Station?"

"Switch frequencies."

"Okay...here!" Again the scene was in black and white, a youthful Walter Cronkite reading the news behind an impossibly large microphone. The audio came on, "...President Eisenhower said today that the developments in Eastern Europe are the largest threat to world peace in—"

"Archie!" she interrupted, and the computer cut the audio. "I hope this is a documentary or something. Scan for something in color—with full spectrum images."

"Scanning...Nothing...no, wait...nope. I can try boosting through the—"

"Never mind," she said, her heart full of foreboding. "Look, I need a newspaper."

"A what?"

* * *

Johnny Brent was in trouble, as usual. He was late for his paper route, and Mr. Marvin had said if he was late again, he'd be out of the job. Not that it would bother Johnny much, but his mom would skin him alive. And the other night he'd heard her talking on the phone to Uncle Bob, saying how she didn't know if they were going to be able to pay the bills, and the next morning her eyes were all red and weepy, so he had to keep this job! He broke into a run and rounded the corner by the newsstand just as Mr. Marvin was hefting the last bundle off the tailgate of the truck. The other kids were gone already. Johnny grabbed it, and still huffing, panted out, "I'll get it, Mr. Marvin!"

"So you made it?" grumped the old man. "You remember, kid, this ain't no charity operation here! You mess up, you're out! Understand?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Johnny as he pried open the bundle and began folding the papers and stuffing them into his sack. Mr. Marvin snorted and walked back to the stand, and Johnny turned his head to stick out his tongue at the man's back. When he looked back to his pile of papers, all he saw was a momentary glimmer of light. The newspapers were all gone.

* * *

Gillian put the paper down and sighed. "Well?" asked Archie expectantly.

"Well, you made it by three years."

"Explain."

"We're three years into the second half of the Twentieth Century. It's 1953."

"There you go!" said Archie proudly.

"Where do I go? There isn't anything here! No whale research, no women PhD's, no... Lucy isn't even reruns! What am I going to do?"

"I'm sorry, Gillian, I don't understand," said Archie, "but I thought you said you came here to administer that antiviral. Why can't you do that?"

"Oh, Archie, that isn't the problem. It's just that I have to live out the rest of my life here, and I found the eighties pretty old-fashioned for my tastes. But the fifties?"

"It'll soon be the sixties," he offered lamely.

"Yeah, right...Hey, Arch! Can't we just jump ahead twenty years or so?"

"Gillian! I explained to you how inexact this business is. And it takes an enormous amount of power, not to mention the strain on the ship...Anyway, we could easily wind up after you left the first time."

"Then I would miss George and Gracie. But this...this is before I was born!"

"Good," said Archie emphatically.

"Why's that?"

"I was worried about how you were going to handle being around yourself."

"I never thought of that! I'd have to avoid meeting myself. I couldn't live in my own home, assume my own identity...You did the right thing in bringing us early."

"I wish I could take credit. Maybe it's all due to that omniscient Continuum you're always talking about."

"Maybe..." She picked up the folded paper that had been on top of the pile and stared at it. "Arch? Was this paper like this when you took the pile?"

"Like what? I didn't do anything to them."

"Where'd you get it from?"

"How do I know? I set the sensors for that ink you described, and I found a concentration of it in and around a little booth of some kind."

"Were there any people around?"

"I didn't think to look. Is it important?"

"What if people saw you transport the papers?"

"So what?"

"Archie, transporters aren't going to be invented for over two hundred years! Look, was there a kid near these papers?"

"A kid?"

"A child, Archie."

"Oh. Them. I don't know. Why?"

"I think you stole some kid's papers. They deliver them for money."

"Oh, an extortion racket."

"No!" she laughed. "It's to earn a little. Look, we've got to take them back."

"Easy enough. I've got the original coordinates."

"And I'm going. But first I have to get changed."

"Why?"

"Because in 1953 women didn't dress like this. Do you have that program chip I gave you?"

"Yes. I transposed it for the food synthesizer. Where'd you get it anyway?"

"From Jim Kirk's emergency wardrobe."

"Ask a dumb question," mumbled the computer as Gillian punched instructions into the synthesizer.

A few minutes later she was wearing a tight-waisted, fully flared dress, with shiny high-heeled shoes. "Ugh," she groaned. "I remember my Great Aunt Sharon wearing things like this! Ready, Archie?"

"Got your communicator? Okay, sit on the pad, and don't forget the papers."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want some more milk, Johnny?" asked Gillian, standing in front of the icebox with the bottle in her hand.

"Nah...Hey! Hi, Mom!"

"Hi, Johnny, how's...oh, hello."

"Hello, Mrs. Brent. My name is Gillian Taylor."

"Uh, hello. Nadine Brent." She shot a questioning look at her son, who grinned and explained, "Miss Taylor helped me deliver my papers, and when I fell down old man Keeton's step, she carried me home!"

"Oh, don't exaggerate, Johnny!" protested Gillian. "He just twisted his ankle, and I helped him limp on home. I stayed to fix him a snack. I..." As she met the women's stare the hardness there suddenly melted, and Gillian smiled and finished, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," she replied slowly. "Thank you for your consideration, Miss... Taylor."

"Yes." She could imagine what she was thinking. A thirty-year-old "Miss," no place to be on a weekday afternoon, lets herself into someone else's house. She probably couldn't wait to get this weirdo out of her home. But then she surprised her.

"A beautiful single woman like you must have more interesting things to do than running a small boy's paper route."

She averted her eyes and replied, "I found it fascinating. You have a wonderful son."

"I invited Miss Taylor to stay for dinner, Mom."

"And a presumptuous one," Gillian added quickly. "But don't worry. Now that Johnny's ankle is better, and you're home, I'll be on my way."

"No," she demurred, "We...we'd love to have you stay."

Something in the woman's tone alerted Gillian, and she asked kindly, "Is there something wrong, Mrs. Brent?"

"Why did you help Johnny?" she almost demanded.

"He was crying..." she started slowly, but Johnny blurted out, "I lost my papers, Mom, all of 'em! And Miss Taylor helped me find 'em, and then she—"

"You _lost_ your papers? How in the world did—"

"I'm afraid it may be my fault," said Gillian, quickly trying to formulate a believable story. "You see, that crotchety gentleman who runs the paper stand, Mr...?"

"Marvin," supplied Mrs. Brent.

"Yes, Marvin. I arranged to get a stack of papers from him for my...church group? But there must have been a miscommunication, and I picked up the papers, only they were Johnny's I guess...well, anyway, it's all taken care of now."

The woman's face became stern. "This is the last straw! That Mr. Marvin cannot go on taking advantage of my son, just because I don't have a husband to—" She stopped, the shame obvious in her face. "Oh, my husband—"

"Johnny told me," Gillian hastened to say, sparing the woman the grief of recounting her husband's death. Inwardly, she shook her head in disgust that in this time a woman had to be embarrassed that someone might think she was divorced, or a single mother. "I'm so sorry."

"_You're_ sorry!" yelled Mrs. Brent, then she dropped into a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. "Oh, please forgive me!" she cried.

Gillian put a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing to forgive. Can I do anything?"

She shook her head. Johnny limped over to her and hugged her. "Please don't cry any more, Mom. I got all the papers delivered, and none of 'em were late! Miss Taylor even showed me how to throw 'em so they always land right on the porch. Except old man Keeton's, that is."

She looked up and wiped her eyes. To Gillian she said, "You know how to throw newspapers?"

Gillian smiled at her. "It's not very hard. A woman can do almost anything she has to...isn't that right, Nadine?"

The smile that came to the distraught woman had a look of unused awkwardness, and it was diluted by tears, but Gillian could tell that for the first time in a long time, the woman felt a glimmer of hope in her heart. "How could you possibly understand, Miss—"

"Gillian, please."

"Gillian? I mean, we've just met, but you seem to know so much about me."

"I do. I know Johnny, and he's a wonderful boy, so his mom must be wonderful, too."

She did stay for supper, and late into the evening. By the time she picked up the ghastly purse Jim's program had provided her with, they were talking like old friends, and Johnny was long asleep on the sofa. Nadine was afraid to let her go out alone, but Gillian assured her that she had a friend she could call to pick her up, at which point Nadine apologized that she didn't have a phone. "That's all right," assured Gillian. "I saw a payphone on the corner. It's not far. And Archie will get me right away once I call."

* * *

"Gillian?"

"Yes, Archie?" she replied, looking up from the screen where Kirk's "exploits" were scrolling by.

"I'll have the data you need on ocean currents in another few minutes, and we'll be ready for the first antiviral drop."

"Great. Do you need any help?"

"No, thanks."

"Say, Arch? Can you give me a hardcopy of this stuff?"

"Sure. Want it now?"

"Whenever you get a chance."

"Where'd you say you were going this afternoon?"

"To Johnny's school. He's in a _Little Red Riding Hood_. He plays the wolf."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

She laughed, "No, I guess not."

"Gillian?" he said, using the tone she'd come to associate with his most human-like, most patronizing, most protective moments. She wondered if one of his programmers had been a grandmother.

"Yes, Archie?" she answered sugary sweetly.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to get involved with that...kid?"

"Archie! The boy is a sad sack. He's got no father, a mother who works day and night at some cruddy job to make ends meet. He's alone and scared and he needs somebody to look after him. Time is one thing I've got plenty of right now, so it doesn't hurt to give him some, and I need to establish an identity here. Being the friend of a nice family like that can go a long way toward that end. Look, don't you have that data yet?"

"Coming up on the screen, as soon as I get rid of this junk from Quack's stories."

"It's Kirk," she corrected automatically, shaking her head.

When the shuttle was directly over the mid-Pacific point Archie's calculations had indicated, she opened the first canister of antiviral, measured some into a beaker, and set it on the transporter pad. "Can you bring back the beaker?" she asked.

"I can do even better. I'll just beam down the liquid and keep the glass here."

"Super!"

Archie then zoomed over to the Mediterranean site, and they repeated the process. The third drop had to wait until the next morning, so she asked Archie to take them back to geosynchronous orbit above Los Angeles, where she had set up the underwater monitors she'd pilfered from the _Hawking_. She was afraid to have Archie orbit around the earth, in case she needed him when she was on the farside. He'd laughed and said that with his subspace electronics he could monitor and transport her from anywhere on the globe, but she still felt better knowing he was directly overhead.

While she was getting ready for the play, she suddenly remembered something. "Archie! Do you have that phone book I gave you scanned yet?"

"Sure, all memorized and ready to go."

"And how about the phone patch you were going to hook up?"

"Sorry, Gillian. Everything's cables—there isn't an open transmission anywhere."

"That's right! There aren't any communications satellites yet."

"There aren't any orbiting devices at all that I can pick up," said Archie disgustedly.

"Don't worry, there will be soon enough. Well, at least you can look something up. Try to find me a pawn broker."

"Okay. What are you up to?"

She lifted a dull metal bar out of her sack. "I need money, Archie. How much does this hunk of platinum weigh?" She set it on his sensor pad.

"Three point nine one kilos."

She grinned. Standard lab supplies from the Twenty-third Century sure could make life simpler in the Twentieth. "I need to cut off a few small pieces. Any ideas?"

"Scotty has a bunch of tools in that third cabinet on the left..."

* * *

"Al, did you place that ad yet?"

"Just this morning, Bill, but we probably won't hear anything for a few of days. In the meantime we've got to try to convince the chairman to fund our project, or we won't have any money to pay an assistant."

"He has to fund it! It's the only reasonable project in the whole damn department! Did you hear what Higgins wants to do? He thinks the Navy can use seals to patrol the coastline. He's trying to train them to recognize Russian subs!"

"Bill. First of all, they're sea lions. Second, the scary part is that his idea might work. Did you ever think what might happen if we get funding and the military gets hold of our stuff?"

"How would they?"

"Don't be naive, Bill! Once we publish what we're doing with porpoises, someone's bound to figure out the military applications of our research."

"I hadn't thought of that! What are we going to do?"

"Nothing. It'll happen anyway. At least we can try to get our work done, and do everything we can to keep the government out of it."

"Well, it's time for my meeting with Kilgore. Wanna come?"

"No, thanks. I'll take round two. Have fun."  


* * *

Gillian materialized behind a pile of trash in a crowded alley. "Thanks, Archie," she whispered into her communicator before pocketing it. She peeked out of the alley and spotted the pawnshop right across the street and entered the shop, jingling the bell suspended on the door.

"Yeah, lady?" asked the proprietor, wending his way past dusty piles of junk to the rickety display counter.

"I'd like cash for some platinum," said Gillian, displaying her rehearsed bravado.

"Wouldn't we all!" grumped the man, holding out his hand.

She took the handkerchief-wrapped lump out of her purse and handed it to him. "It's high grade platinum."

"I'll be the judge of that," he scoffed, pulling out a jeweler's loop. "And where would a pretty young thing like you be getting a hunk of metal like this, not that I'm asking."

"It's a family heirloom," she said, continuing her script.

"Usually is...hmm...looks real enough I guess."

"How much can you give me for it?"

"Fifty bucks."

"What? It's worth many times that."

"Probably. But then, I'm not asking any questions, and questions can get expensive. Know what I mean?" He winked at her.

"I need at least a hundred." She reached for the metal.

He grabbed the lump before she could get it. "Hold on, lady. You got any more of this stuff?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Tell you what. I'll give you seventy-five for this piece. I'll have it tested, see if it's genuine. If it is, you come back in a few days, we'll make a better deal. Okay?"

* * *

Gillian applauded wildly with the rest of the audience, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. The play had been funny enough, but when Johnny's tail fell off and he picked it up and held it to his backside for the rest of the scene, the crowd had gone wild, and now here he was, making his second curtain call, his tail held triumphantly high above his head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nadine Brent hurry into the auditorium and join the clapping. When the curtain closed for the final time, she worked her way over to her.

Gillian said, "Johnny was superb!"

"I wish I'd made it in time, but my boss made me finish a load of typing before I could leave. Whatever happened to his tail?"

By the time Gillian had related the story, Johnny had shed his wolfsuit and run up the aisle to give his mother a hug. "Did you see it, Mom?"

"I'm afraid not. But Miss Taylor says you were great!"

"I was! Hey, let's go for ice cream!"

"Why not? Gillian? Can you join us?"

"Uh..."

"Oh, please, Miss Taylor," begged Johnny, brimming over with that youthful exuberance which is diminished when it can't be fully shared.

"I'd love to, on one condition. It's my treat."

"Oh, we couldn't—"

"I'm sorry, Nadine. This is a celebration for Johnny's wonderful performance." She looked into her thankful eyes and added, "I really want to do it."

They found a booth away from the jukebox, and Nadine told the waitress she and Johnny would share a dish of ice cream, but Gillian interrupted and ordered them both a banana split and a malted for herself. By the time she was going places as a youth, fast food places had replaced the neighborhood malt shop, and she'd always wanted to have a malted in a place like in all the rerun sitcoms she used to watch. Still, even given these little pleasures, it was going to be tough being a senior citizen when she finally got to the eighties again.

* * *

"Archie? What's the antiviral index up to in the eastern Pacific?" she asked as she worked on the tricorder with the damaged transmitter.

"All along the coast it's point eight eight or better. Replication is proceeding slightly ahead of expected rates. If we make about six more drops, we'll be set."

"Fantastic! Anything interesting from the underwater monitors?"

"There's nothing at all from them. I'm afraid maybe that power pack did go bad."

"Damn! I need that data to make sure about the Humpback migration."

"Well, you could go and try to fix it."

"Can't you just beam it up?"

"If I do, the circuits will dry out, and we'll have to recalibrate all the sensor links."

"Ugh," she groaned, remembering how hard it was to get them calibrated originally. She sighed resignedly. "I may have to get some gear and dive down to them. I need that information on the whales. Do you realize how many of them there must still be?" She frowned suddenly. "And how many whalers? Maybe I should try monkey-wrenching the industry."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I won't have time for at least a few years, especially if this dolphin project gets going."

"How is that new job working out?"

She laughed. "Al and Bill act like I'm an alien or something. They've never met a woman who knew more biology than them, which is not much of a claim to fame, since most of the latest developments in the field were out of date by the time I got to high school. Can you imagine? They think I'm a genius because I was able to explain the details of Watson and Crick's model to them. I'm not sure they even understood it completely, but they were amazed that I did.

"Anyway, they've good as made me a member of the faculty, which they can't officially do, of course. When I suggested that we study the possibility of ultrasonic communication in cetaceans, at first they acted like I was a lunatic, but after they talked to some guy working with bats, they decided I might have something. They set me up with a lab of my own, but the acoustic hardware! It's positively fossilized! Archie, this place has no solid state electronics!"

"Solid state? Oh, you mean those antique circuits that used electrical impulses instead of optics and lasers."

This tit for tat set her laughing as she realized that she was more a dinosaur to Archie than her bosses were to her. "Look, in a couple of weeks the staff is taking a long weekend for the Fourth of July. I'll have time then and can get to that power pack. How's that sound?"

"Sure, Gillian. Say, how're the Brents?"

She smiled. Archie took after "the Scotsman" whom he insulted so often—despite all his gruffness, he was really a softy. "They're doing real fine. I convinced Nadine to tell her boss off. No job is worth the shit she has to put up with, and for peanuts, too!"

"So what happened?"

"Would you believe it? He offered her a promotion! He said any woman with that kind of moxey was an asset to the firm. I bet she's the first female office manager in the place by next year. She's changed her whole lifestyle, gotten more outgoing. She always knew that she wasn't inferior just because she was a woman, but she didn't know she could assert herself. You should have seen the grief she gave them at the phone company when they told her they needed her late husband's references to give her a phone! They were so shocked they couldn't talk, and the phone was installed the next morning. And Johnny's doing great. He loves that job at the grocer, and with his quick mind, I bet he'll be in the office by the time he's a teenager. Who knows? Maybe he'll own a chain of supermarkets...if they ever invent them."

"Gillian?"

"Yes, Arch?"

"You know best...but you told me all about the continuum business...I mean, do you think you're risking things by interfering with what's going on?"

She put down the tricorder and sighed. "I don't know. Probably. But I have to live here. Back in the eighties I was trying my damnedest to make a mark on history; I'm going to have to do that here. If Mr. Spock is right..." She paused, thinking about all she had given up. The people she'd never see. The wonders she'd never share. Well, what is, is, her mother always used to say. "If he's right, the continuum will just have to mold itself around whatever I do...or don't do."

She picked up the tricorder and said, "Is there any hope for this thing?"

"I doubt it. We need a double-faceted transtator, and there isn't a spare one in the whole ship."

"Then why did you have me take it apart?" she complained.

"It's a trick I learned from the Scotsman. He always has his greenies do that so they learn how things work. Thought it couldn't hurt for you to know how your equipment functions."

"Thanks a lot, teacher," she laughed.

* * *

Gillian noticed the guy's stare immediately, but she didn't make any response to it. Instead she began searching the shelves for the journal issues she wanted. He slimed his way over and said out of the corner of his mouth. "You don't see many babes in this part of the library. Ain't any cookbooks in here, honey."

Her first thought was to ignore him, but she reconsidered. "One doesn't usually see many idiots in here either. You have to be able to read to use these books. I'm afraid the university libraries don't have picture book sections."

"Ooooh! I do like a feisty woman!" he cackled.

Gillian rolled her eyes and moved down the stack. Unfortunately, so did he. "Look, fellow, why don't you just...Hey! Look what they've got!" She grabbed a tattered journal, which looked terribly out of place among all the bound issues, and pulled it out. As she was scanning the table of contents, he looked over her shoulder.

"Hey, what is that, Chinese?"

"It's Russian, stupid. And I'm trying to read it. Do you mind?"

"You read Russky?" he asked, putting some welcomed distance between them.

"Yes," she answered absent-mindedly, moving to a table, where she sat down to read the article on Humpback migration she had found. She didn't even notice when he left.

A half-hour later she was packing up her notes when the policeman came up to her and said, "Uh, Miss? Would you please come with me? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

She frowned at this interruption but agreed. When she did, she figured they'd step outside the library and talk where they could do so without disturbing anyone. But he had something different in mind. Another officer joined them outside and the two of them bustled her into a squad car and drove her to the station. She began protesting about her civil rights, but neither of them seemed to know what she meant, and the part that scared her the most was that she was quite sure their innocence was not due to dissembling. Fear was beginning to replace her anger by the time they reached the precinct. There a policewoman searched her, took away her purse and papers, then finally ushered her into an interrogation room where a fat cop sat smoking a smelly cigar.

He scowled at her and said, "You're an interesting woman, Miss Taylor. Is that short for Taylorsky?"

Suddenly all those boring hours in American History class came back to her, and she realized what this must be all about. She also knew she'd have to be awfully careful. "I don't understand," she said placidly.

"What's this?" he demanded, shoving one of her pages of notes under her nose.

She examined it very carefully. "It's a description of Humpback whale migration in the northern Pacific."

"How come I can't read it?"

She raised her brows, "Perhaps you're illiterate?" She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't resist; he was asking for it.

"I am when it comes to commie writing!" he bellowed.

She shook her head sadly and tried to fix things up with logic and reason. "I find it easier to jot down notes in Russian when I'm reading a Russian scientific article. It saves time. You'll notice that all the rest of my notes, on English articles, are in English."

Only logic and reason were lost on this man, whom she could just picture standing before the press, taking bows for this pinko spy he uncovered and turned in. He leered at her and said, "But you forgot yourself when you found something from good old Mother Russia, eh?"

"Sergeant," she began.

"It's _lieutenant_, lady!"

"And it's Miss Taylor, man!"

Clearly shocked, the lieutenant turned to the other office present and said, "Bring in the device. Carefully!"

He went away and returned with her communicator, which he was holding as if it might blow up at any second. She wished it would. "What's this?" demanded the lieutenant.

"Um...I'm not sure. May I see it more closely?"

"Ahah!" he chortled, snatching it back. "So it is a spy phone! Well, you aren't going to call for help from your commie friends this time."

"Officer...Lieutenant. If that object is from my purse, it is not a 'spy phone' or anything else of the sort. It is my new compact. If you give it to me, I can open it and show you the powder inside. Really, you are getting carried away just because as a scientist I have studied Russian."

"Scientist, huh? Who ever heard of a lady scientist reading Russian?"

"I know several," said Gillian.

"Ahah! Grimes! We've uncovered a whole ring of them!"

"Oh my, Lieutenant! You _are_ jumping to erroneous conclusions by the bushel here. Please, let me demonstrate my little make-up kit. You can have it right back."

"No way, lady. Grimes, take this to the boys in the lab and have them check it out."

"No!" she yelled, then, getting hold of herself, she smiled and said, "Why don't you just let me show you how it works? Even if it were a spy phone, how could anyone get to me in here?" She smiled sillily at him. "And besides, Captain..."

"Lieutenant," he corrected reluctantly.

"Ah, yes! Lieutenant, if you send that to the boys in the lab, and they find out it's just a lady's compact, how is that going to look? Huh?"

Clearly not completely convinced, but obviously swayed by this direct hit on his ego, he slowly slid the communicator over to her. She grinned, picked it up, and flipped it open. The two policemen jumped back at the beep. She quickly bent over to make sure she had clearance and said, still smiling stupidly at the two cops, "Archie, beam me up immediately, please!"

She tightened her grip on the device and didn't relax it until she rematerialized on the shuttle, at which point she flung it across the cabin and began yelling. "Of all the backward, bigoted, bumbling..."

"Bastards?" offered Archie.

"Yes! Bastards!" she agreed, unfolding herself from the transporter pad. "Archie, they arrested me as a Russian spy!"

"Are you?"

"Archie!"

"I guess not. Is that good or bad?"

"Never mind! Listen, I'm in big trouble here. I can't go back to my job—they'll trace me from the library for sure. I'll have to assume a new identity. Why the hell did this have to happen? What _am_ I going to do?"

"First you've got to calm down."

"I can't! No, of course I can. Let me see, I need something to take me out of things, maybe I'll just go fix that monitor...No! I've got to talk to Nadine. And I might have to stay with her for a while. I can't be beaming up every evening—it's too risky. Give me some time to put some stuff together. Why don't you warm up the synthesizer...oh! Do you have my hard copy of Jim's book yet?"

"It's in the chute. I even used real paper, so if anybody sees it they won't think anything of it."

She laughed, despite her high emotion. "Oh, Archie! If anybody from this retarded civilization read that stuff, they'd die laughing at the impossibility of it." Her sudden mirth vanished in an instant. "No," she said seriously, "they'd probably try to hunt down the author so they could lynch him!"

* * *

"So, Dr. Eustis," said the policeman closing his notepad, "Can you tell us anything else about this woman?"

"There really is nothing more to tell. She is very strange, but brilliant. Sometimes she seems to know things she couldn't possibly know."

The policeman nodded importantly, but the biologist added, "No, I mean things no one could know, as if she had some sixth sense about scientific phenomena. I'm sure she is not a spy, officer."

Bill chimed in, "Of course she isn't! She was teaching us stuff! If she were after information, she'd hardly been giving it out."

The cop retorted, "Maybe she was just trying to gain your confidence. It appears she did."

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Perhaps," Al Eustis said quickly. "If we think of anything else, we'll give you a call."

After the policeman left, Bill turned on Al. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"What? You want to get closed down? Blacklisted? All we need is for someone to point to our project as a cover for some Communist activity! All we've worked so hard for would be down the drain in a second!"

"All that Gillian and we have worked for, Al!"

Al nodded gravely. "That's the tragedy of it. But she's finished. The best thing that can happen to us is if she stays lost. She hasn't contacted you, has she?"

"Not a peep from her since she went to the library, not that I'd tell that witch-hunting cop if there were."

"Well, then the best thing for you will be if she doesn't get in touch. Come on, at least we might be able to salvage some of this project if we can go through her notes before we burn them."

Bill stared at him in disbelief. "Her notes? You told the cops there weren't any."

"Correction: I said 'There aren't any notes here. She must have taken them with her or something'. Actually, it was or something. When Gillian didn't come back for lunch, I took her notes home to study. Emma was late making my sandwiches, so I had to rush to get back, and I forgot the notes. When the cops arrived, it was easy enough to demonstrate they weren't here."

"You son of a gun!" laughed Bill.

* * *

"Anything more on the newscasts?" asked Gillian, sipping her soup.

"Not since the day before yesterday. I guess you're not newsworthy any more."

"I will be if they spot me again. You're sure they never went to Nadine's?"

"I monitored every police broadcast since I beamed you up. Nobody was ever dispatched to her house."

"Good. And I can't believe she'd go to them, even if she recognized my description on the news. At least, I don't want to believe she would."

"So," asked Archie, "are you going down?"

"Might as well," she answered, standing up and reaching for the large suitcase she had synthesized, then filled with synthesized clothing and supplies. "I've got everything I need." She grimaced as she picked up the replacement purse she had had made. A different style, but still as hideous.

"Remember, I'll beam you up in a flash if you run into trouble."

"I know you won't fail me, Archie. That's why I love you."

"I bet you say that to all your computers."

"Yeah, right!" she laughed, crouching down onto the pad. "Energize, you sentimental slob!"

As soon as the shower of light faded, Archie's voice came over the speaker in the communicator, which still lay on the floor in the corner, where it had skidded several days before, "Gillian? Why do I still register your communicator frequency in the cabin here?"

After a pause, his voice came again, this time over the main cabin speakers. "Gillian, I think I'm afraid now."

* * *

"Mom! Come quick! It's Gillian!" yelled Johnny, closing the door behind her.

"Gillian! We were so worried. When you never came back, and I heard on...Johnny, don't you have homework?"

"Aw, mom!"

"Go on, young man! Gillian is staying for supper..." Her eyes fell on the suitcase, and she said, "And maybe longer. Now, run along and let us ladies talk! Gillian! What happened?"

Nadine shook her head and tut-tutted through the whole story, and when Gillian asked her if she could stay for a while, she said, "Of course, silly. As long as you like. You know I was trying to get you to move into our spare bedroom long before this whole stupid mess. The nerve of some people! You! A spy! It's absurd."

Gillian hesitated. Everything was all right now. Only it wasn't. She couldn't leave anything between her and this woman who had so much faith in her. "Nadine, I...I haven't been totally honest with you."

As usual, Nadine surprised her with her answer, "Of course you haven't! You've got problems of your own, and you've never wanted to burden me with them, and heaven knows, you're probably wise, considering how poorly I handled my own until you came along, but someday maybe you'll share them with me. In the meantime, you have your dark secrets, but I know none of them have anything to do with the Russians..." She stopped and stared into Gillian's eyes. "Or if they do, then everything they say about the Russians cannot be true." She broke the stare and ended, "Now follow me up to your room. We'll get you settled."

At that instant Johnny barreled down the stairs, yelling, "All done, Mom! So, is Gillian staying with us?"

"Yes," answered Gillian, "but we're going to have to play a special game. We're going to pretend my name is Susan Armstrong, and we mustn't ever call me by my real name, even among ourselves. Can you play this game, Johnny?"

"Sure, Gil—I mean, Susan!"

"That's a boy. Now, here, help me carry this awful suitcase up to my room."

Once she was unpacked, and once Nadine was finally able to get Johnny in bed, Gillian was alone in her room. She decided to check in with Archie, since he had assured her that equipment able to detect their frequencies was decades away. She grabbed her purse and began rummaging in it. Somewhere during the third time through she suddenly stopped. In her mind she saw the communicator flying through the air, heard it clanging against the wall of the shuttle cabin. With a snap, she shut the purse. "Oh, shit!"

* * *

Gillian leaned back and let the grass tickle her through her clothes. She was actually getting used to these styles. Sure, what she wouldn't give for some pantyhose! She'd toss out that whole drawer of stockings in a second! And she'd kill for a decent pair of jeans, but if she didn't want to draw attention to herself—that was the last thing she needed. But is wasn't easy not drawing attention to herself. She'd thought it was difficult jumping three centuries into the future, but then all she had to do was act dumb, which she was! This, this was horrible. Every minute she had to be on her guard. The wrong reference, the wrong comment, the wrong observation, anything could give her away. Give her away? She could tell the whole damned truth, and no one would believe it. But they sure would react! But how? _That_ was what she was afraid of.

A particularly large cloud momentarily blocked the sun, and she instinctively turned to see the source of the sudden darkness, then laughed at her silliness. What, did she expect to see the large disk and slender nacelles of Jim Kirk's beloved _Enterprise_? She closed her eyes and let the sounds of frolicking children lull her nerves. She was full of hot dogs and soda, Johnny and Nadine were trying out every swing in the park, and the fireworks were still a couple of hours away. Sometimes the slower pace here suited her well. She figured it had to.

The first day she'd been in shock, and she spent the next couple waiting stupidly for Archie to beam her up any minute. But then she realized he had no way of doing that, so she'd frantically tried everything from flare guns to ham radios in an attempt to get her coordinates to him. Somehow she simply had to get used to it: she was here to stay.

Life could be a lot worse. She had never had any real choice, as Archie had pointed out, but she had been counting on her contact with the Twenty-third Century through him and the shuttle to make up for the deficiencies of this time. She opened her eyes and glanced reflexively upward. What would Archie do? If he were able to find her, he would have by now. But how could he? Scan for a human in Los Angeles? She hoped he had given up and gone on home, but somehow the thought that he might still be up there was a little bit comforting. She was glad she didn't know for sure.

And what should _she_ do? And how was she going to live? She couldn't keep draining the Brent's resources. Oh sure, she had the rings. Archie had come up with the idea of using Scotty's laser-lathe to make rings out of the platinum when she'd explained how worried she was about dealing in hunks of the metal. She had enough to keep her for quite a while. Nadine had already gotten her that bookkeeping job. Phew! What she wouldn't give for a ten-dollar calculator!

She sat up with a start. Texas Instruments. She remembered. She was in high school. They cost a fortune and had no features. And they were huge and lunky. The stock must have sold for a pittance. She laughed out loud. She _had_ brought something of value from the eighties! With a little thought, she could soon be a wealthy woman. And wealth meant power. And power, in this stupid society, meant the ability to do things. Like pushing the space program when everyone thought it was ridiculous. Like...Like wrecking the time continuum.

She sighed in disgust. What if she changed things so that in her effort to bring to pass what she saw in the United Federation of Planets, Earth never joined? What if she did what that Keeler woman had done, destroying exactly what she most fervently believed in and fought for? What if a certain Iowa farmboy spent his years plowing fields instead of seeking out new civilizations? What if she changed things so that she never met Jim Kirk, and he never took her into the future, and... Wait a minute! If she'd done that, she wouldn't be here, right? So, nothing she'd done so far had changed things that much! But what about something she was going to do? Would she still be here? And if she did something to wreck up time, would she just disappear? Would she even know what happened? She shook her head. This was too much to consider, especially for a hot, lazy, Fourth of July evening. She got up, brushed off her skirt, and sauntered over to find Nadine and Johnny.

_Please review._


	7. Chapter 7

"How do you know so many things?" Nadine asked out of the blue while they were putting away groceries.

"I've had a lot of school."

"I didn't mean that kind of knowledge. I meant knowing about life, about things that exist inside us, or don't exist, or haven't happened yet."

"I'm hardly clairvoyant!" protested Gillian.

"No, it's not that. It's something real. You seem to know about people's deepest feelings. Like that business today with Johnny, about the Korean conflict? You told Johnny that the groups will change, and the lies will change, but there will always be some people who are made fun of and mistreated by the rest. You told him always to fight that, until people finally change." She looked over at Gillian. "That was beautiful, Susan."

"Oh, I've seen a lot of persecution, that's all."

Nadine set down an empty paper bag. "No, that's not all. You also said something about 'Vietnam being next.' Only I went to the atlas—where is Vietnam?"

"Oh, that's just a...local name. On the maps it's called Indochina. Say, where do you want this sugar?"

"In the cupboard there. Why did you say it was next?"

"I don't know. It was silly of me. How about the beans?"

Nadine suddenly smiled. "Sorry," she said, taking the bag of beans from her. "I guess I'm crossing over into your dark secrets."

Gillian bit her lip. "Nadine...it's not that I want to keep things from you. You've done so much for me, and you deserve the truth. Only in this case..."

"In this case you feel I'm better off not knowing."

"I really do," replied Gillian.

* * *

Nadine bent over to put the small bouquet at the foot of the tombstone. As she straightened, a shadow fell across the gravesite, and she turned quickly to see a familiar uniform and a familiar face. He smiled, "Hi. I didn't mean to intrude."

"Nonsense," she answered, really meaning it. "I'm glad to see you here. Ed would be happy to know you still come. Oh! I read your story. I really liked it."

"From your mouth to an editor's ears!" laughed her companion.

"Your time will come, sir, and when it does, you'll deserve every good thing that happens."

"How can I miss with friends who have that kind of faith in me?"

"You won't miss."

"Even if some of my ideas are 'truly unusual'?"

She laughed to hear her words come back to her. "I simply meant that some of your fiction is strange to an everyday mind like mine that doesn't have the time or inclination to think about the stars and planets and..." She stopped suddenly.

"What is it, Nadine?" he asked solicitously.

She smiled strangely at him. "There's someone I think you should meet."

"An editor?"

"Better. Someone who thinks like you."

"Oh," he laughed, "a competitor!"

"I don't think so," she teased. "I'll have you both over to dinner sometime soon."

"Anything that gets me one of your home-cooked meals is all right by me."

"Good, then it's settled."

* * *

"Susan, he's a good friend!"

"You said he was a cop!"

"Of course he's a cop! The wives of cops know lots of cops. He was a buddy of Ed's, and he's a really nice man!"

"But, Nadine!"

"Look, he isn't really a cop."

"Come on, do you expect me to believe that?"

"What I mean is, even though he's a cop, he isn't. He's just doing it to make a living until he can support himself off his writing."

"Writing? What kind?"

"Oh, different things, but what he loves is television scripts. I think he's silly to limit himself to such a small field, but he has his heart set on it."

Gillian laughed, "Oh, if he gets in on it, he'll be lucky. Television is bound for the stars!"

Nadine gave her one of her knowing looks but merely answered, "He'll be glad to know that."

"Look, I don't want to meet a cop. Okay?"

"Listen, Susan. Even if he recognized you, even if he was at the station when you were there, he won't turn you in."

"Oh, sure!"

"I'm serious. He thinks things like that are stupid."

"Okay, maybe when I get back from my trip."

"I'll arrange it." Before Gillian could protest, Nadine added quickly, "Now where did you say you were going? Up the coast?"

"Well, I thought I'd try out my new car. Get some sun, see the sights, relax a little."

"It's a grand idea. How much time did your boss give you?"

"He couldn't believe how quickly I prepared for that audit," she laughed, her amusement coming not from her boss's surprise, but from the help her tricorder had given her. She couldn't use it in the office, of course, but Mr. Patterson was more than pleased with the results letting her take work home had produced. It had been a simple matter to parse out an arithmetic program from the statistics module, and while she couldn't print out her spreadsheets, they sure did simply her homework! She looked up to see Nadine's expectant face.

"So I got a whole week!"

"Wow! He must have been really pleased."

"He was."

Johnny flew through the kitchen door. "Mom, can you get me the peanut butter?"

Nadine led Johnny out the door, but turned around to call out, "Have a great trip. I'll see you soon. And don't worry, I'll just invite him to dinner when you get back—nothing overwhelming." She disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

The pawnshop in the little coastal town was even seedier than the last couple, but she needed equipment, and equipment costs money. The threat of being recognized kept her from more legitimate establishments, and it kept her from going anywhere more than once, which prevented her from getting better prices. Fortunately, this guy had understood the value of the ring, and he'd been generous enough, for a crook. At least she had enough for the scuba gear.

She bought that in the next town, which was still a few miles from where her monitors were located. That was probably the toughest scene she'd had yet. She had forgotten that scuba gear was still quite new, and used mostly by specialists. No woman had probably ever bought some. But money talks, and with some cock and bull story about a husband in the navy, she got enough equipment to make the shallow dive to her monitoring station. She drove to the site early in the morning, before anyone would be likely to be up. She was grateful that jogging wasn't a craze yet.

She pulled the car onto a deserted beach access road. The gulls were screeching overhead in the dawn sky, and their mournful tone filled her with a nebulous melancholy. Shaking off the chill of the fog and her mood, she changed into the wetsuit and strapped the ponderous tanks to her back. As she staggered to the surfline, she cursed this archaic gear under her breath.

* * *

Archie focused on the sensor beam. The readings weren't quite right. The humanoid lifeform was definite, but it appeared encased in a botanical substance, almost as if it were an animate plant. Sensors indicated a thickness of about a centimeter for this covering. No clothing he knew about could account for the readings, and he'd recalibrated them a hundred times in the last three seconds.

And then there was the ferrous metallic reading to confuse him. After accounting for the monitoring equipment, none of which was made with such antique alloys, he was left with an enormous mass of metal which seemed to move along with the lifeform. As it moved, it was setting up a micromagnetic field, which was hampering his efforts to stabilize the coordinates. He could chance a wide beam—probably the worst that would happen is he'd flood the cabin with several cubic meters of seawater along with his target. But his memory circuits were full of horror stories about transporter accidents, and this unaccountable magnetic field was just the kind of anomaly that causes transporter accidents. Well, if it _was_ Gillian, he'd have a lot more time to write a program to deal with the magnetism, since even a pro would take a while to repair the powerpack. He began computing.

* * *

Archie was wrong. The powerpack hadn't failed. Something had smashed—or bitten—-a chunk out of the casing, severing most of the circuitry. She looked nervously around, expecting a great white to appear any moment. The foolishness of diving alone nagged her as she examined what was left of the pack. It was hopeless—nothing she could fix without Archie's help, that was for sure.

Gillian pried the bent casing off the powerpack and removed what she could of the electronics, in case there might be something she could use. She'd have to be very careful, though, since it would be very hard to explain Twenty-third Century electronics in this Stone Age society.

* * *

Archie had only finished the second-generation simulation on his program when sensor readings indicated the lifeform and the magnetic field were moving vertically away from the monitoring station. They also indicated that portions of the station were surfacing along with them. He made a final calibration, and, fearing he was already too late, he energized the circuits.

* * *

Gillian surfaced, swam to shore, and dragged the equipment she'd been able to salvage to the car. Stowing the whole mess in the trunk, she decided she'd actually take the vacation, putting aside all her cares for a few days of R&R. She needed it, and she felt she deserved it.

* * *

Archie had to evacuate the cabin to the vacuum of space to boil off the water, and he couldn't do anything about the crust of salt that remained. For the first time in his memory he regretted the programs which gave him emotion. In his grief he left the shuttle without atmosphere, empty as his transporter beam had been.

* * *

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" said a deep voice, breaking her out of her thoughts. She had purposely moved away from the fire so she could better see the stars, and to be alone with her sad thoughts. The clambake had been winding down for a while, so she was a bit startled to be addressed. She looked at the shadowy stranger who had sat next to her on the dark beach. "What?" she asked.

"The stars. How many there are, spread way out there. Makes you think about things. Important things. Things a lot more important than people and wars and clambakes and all."

"Yeah, it does," she agreed, casting a quick glance over to the fire, where many of the group from the inn were gathering up their things.

"I don't remember meeting you before we left the inn. I'm Hank Noble, entertainment director."

"Sue. Armstrong."

He turned away from her and looked straight up. "Ever think about 'em? Take Orion there. Maybe there's some six-legged people on a beach up there, having a squozzlebake." He glanced quickly over to check for her smile. "Or maybe over there in—"

"Why are you saying these things to me?" she asked, suddenly not at all comfortable.

He kept looking at the stars. "I dunno. I guess I saw you sitting over here, your head up like I always got mine..." Now he faced her. "I thought maybe you were a kindred soul."

Was this another shove of the continuum? Or a weird coincidence? "Mr. Noble..."

"Hank, please, Sue."

"Hank, you are an uncommon entertainment director."

At that he laughed deeply. "Guess I am!" He gave her another look and said, "Well, the stars often seem to look better when you're alone." He stood up and brushed the sand from his pants.

"Yes," she said softly, "sometimes I think they do."

His broad smile was evident even in the darkness. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he chuckled, then he strode down the beach to the fire.

She didn't look back at the stars. She was thinking how life could prove a lot more complicated than she had ever imagined.

* * *

It was a gorgeous day. The absolutely clear sky, clearer than any California sky she could remember, positively shone against the equally brilliant Pacific. The waves marched inexorably against the shore, starting their assault so ominously, then collapsing, all their energy spent on show, and finally being sucked back to their doom as the next tried. But she knew that appearances were very misleading. The real power in the waves was not in the swelling crests and crashing surf, but in the relentless, gentle erosion that over time could turn mountains into sand.

Over time. Given enough time, anything was possible. The Grand Canyon was once a stream. And people once swung from their arms through the trees. And Susan Armstrong, bookkeeper on vacation, was once Gillian Taylor, marine biologist. In two different centuries. It all seemed equally preposterous.

That guy, Hank, had asked her to dinner. He said they could watch the stars afterward. Part of her had wanted to say yes, but she wasn't ready. She threw a handful of pebbles at the incoming wave. They fell short. Who was she kidding. She had never been ready. She'd been an orphan long before her folks had died. She never had anybody, and nobody'd ever had her. She worked her way through school, waited tables while she battled the books and the red tape to land her job...boy, did she miss the whales! She suddenly focused on the water. This is where George and Gracie would be born. Were her parents here now? Were they somewhere out there, raising their gorgeous flukes so majestically to sound to a great depth for some equally profound cetacean reason? The thought brought a sad smile.

There had been Rusty, in college. Her flower child years. The only time she'd found a bit of peace. Not the warm, calm peace that other people had, but more than she was used to. Rusty had been part of it, but he'd been as evanescent as those halcyon days. Rusty wasn't really having someone.

Jim Kirk seemed to want to be part of her life. But she hadn't been able to really open up to him, either. The closest she'd ever come to a family was in Johnny and Nadine. She finally smiled genuinely. She had to travel three hundred years ahead, then three hundred thirty back, to find them, but she now had someone to care about and who cared about her.

The day suddenly seemed as bright as she'd known it must be, and she decided to go make some dinner plans.

* * *

The shuttle's engines raised a cloud of dust, which settled again around the vessel in the low-gravity, atmosphereless dark. There were no lights on. Archie didn't need them. When the craft was secure on the lunar surface, he shut down all power, except to his own circuits, the subspace transceiver, and his sensors. A computer, even one with emotion programs, didn't need much. Several days ago he had stopped talking through the cabin's speakers; it only depressed him. He wondered if during the long wait he might not start the habit again.

But for now he had work to do. Safe on the darkside, he set all of his circuits to monitoring. If Gillian showed up in any broadcast anywhere on Earth, he was going to pick it up. He scanned all frequencies for any information about a woman who might be Gillian, whatever name she chose. With a great deal of effort, for Scotty hadn't hardwired it for this use, he got the universal translator on line, enabling him to scan all of Earth's transmissions, many of which were in languages listed in his files as extinct.

* * *

"Look, Mom! Look at these neat cowboy boots Susan got me!"

"Really, Susan," said Johnny's mother after oohing and ahing over the boots and sending him in the other room to play, "you spoil the boy."

Gillian nodded and said, "It makes me happy to see his little eyes light up like that."

Nadine turned to face her. "You are happy, now, aren't you?"

Again she nodded.

"I can't begin to tell you what a difference you've made in my life and Johnny's. I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't dropped into our world."

Gillian startled at her choice of words, but, as usual, Nadine went on as if nothing had occurred. "But I can see that you've changed, too. You've opened up, let some fresh air into your soul." Nadine looked to see that Johnny was out of earshot, then said softly, "Gillian, I don't know where you came from, or why you're here, but I thank God that you are."

Gillian felt a deep warmth, a warmth she never thought she would know. She smiled and said, "So am I, Nadine, so am I." Then she stood up and said, "Now, where are those curtains that need ironing?"

"You're going to iron?" laughed Nadine.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Because you never do. I don't understand it, but you seem to expect clothes to come off the line ready to wear! Sometimes I think..." She paused for a long time, then started again in a very different, quiet tone, "Can you tell me anything of what it's like where you come from?"

"It's wonderful, Nadine, but it's also terrible. There are marvels you wouldn't believe—scientific marvels, medical marvels...but there are things you couldn't conceive of in your worst nightmares. It's a world of extremes, both good and bad. A world where bigger means better, and even small is gigantic. A place of millions and billions, of anonymity and diversity."

"It sounds lonely."

"It is. For some people. But I'm beginning to learn that loneliness is really inside you."

Nadine smiled gently at her. "And so is the cure." Then she laughed and said, "I guess it doesn't really matter where we live, but how. Only your world sounds a lot more exciting than mine."

"Sometimes what we all need is less excitement."

"Speaking of which, tell me all about your vacation!"

"Oh, it was boring. Delightfully boring. I'm afraid it will be hard to get back to work in the morning."

"It usually is on the Monday after vacation. Just make sure you get home on time."

Gillian shot her a pointed glance, but she smiled coyly and said, "He'll be here at six-thirty. You'll want time to get all gussied up."

"Nadine! I don't 'gussy up' for men I know!"

Nadine shrugged. "Wasn't it you who told me that there's a first time for everything?"

"Nadine, you're—"

"Oh, no need to thank me." She stood up. "And don't bother about the curtains. I'll get them. You just enjoy the last few hours of your holiday. I'll call you and Johnny when supper is ready."

* * *

"So how do you like it, Miss Armstrong?" Her boss was beaming like a new papa as he demonstrated the spanking new adding machine. It looked like it weighed about fifty pounds, had keys a linebacker would have trouble pushing, and made a clanging racket as it laboriously chugged through the simplest computations. It printed its figures with a wet, messy ribbon, and she could just see how filthy she'd get changing it.

"Uh...it's quite impressive."

"You bet it is! The finest made. The cutting edge of technology."

She couldn't help it. This was so ludicrous that she actually laughed.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

Her humor quickly failed her, and she stood there, embarrassed, searching for something to say. "Um...it's just so overwhelming! To be able to add sums so easily, why I was just laughing out loud at how wonderful it will be to have this little beauty to do my work for me."

He eyed her strangely, but accepted the explanation. "Of course it's too valuable to let you take it home," he cautioned.

"Oh, of course! I wouldn't think of it! But the time it will save here in the office will certainly lighten my load of homework." She was still fighting off giggles.

"Well, I'll leave it in your capable hands. Remember to read the instruction booklet thoroughly before you try it on your own."

"Don't worry, Mr. Patterson. I'm sure I'll have no problems with it." As he left she remarked to herself that the only problem she was going to have was in making sure she used the stupid thing once in a while so he wouldn't get upset. Once again thoughts of a financial empire threatened her integrity as she considered what she could do if she opened a computing service using her tricorder to process people's books. But then again, with her luck, the tricorder would probably break down and she'd be stuck doing a million calculations on this monstrosity.

* * *

Nadine called her at noon to remind her to be home early, and she was making such a big deal out of this whole thing that Gillian decided not to harass her anymore and just told her not to worry, she'd be on time. Up until three o'clock she was certain she'd have no trouble keeping her word. That's when she heard about Archie.

Or at least she believed it was Archie. Her boss had the radio on in his office, and she was in there picking up some ledgers when the news came on with the story that some astronomers had observed a UFO on an earth-moon trajectory. Whether it crashed or landed they couldn't be certain, since they lost sight of it as it rounded the moon's far side. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was like hearing from a long-lost friend.

But what could she do with the knowledge? She grabbed the ledgers and dropped them on her desk, then flew out of the office for some fresh air. Just when she was accepting her loss, Archie came back into her life. But no, he hadn't. Maybe it wasn't even him. How many UFO sightings were there over the years? A sudden thought struck her—maybe they were all Archie! What if he stayed around looking for her instead of heading back to his own time? That _could_ account for the rash of sightings in the fifties and sixties...But then, so could a million other things. And what if it was Archie? What good did it do knowing he was on the moon? Why the hell would he even go to the moon? She decided to take a walk.

By the time she was over her emotional crisis she was late getting back to the office and had to rush to finish up her work. She hurried home to discover Nadine fretting over her absence, and at a time when all she wanted was a little peace and quiet, she found herself having to calm down Nadine and then hustle to get ready for this dumb dinner. She was definitely _not_ in the mood for small talk with a cop, even one of Nadine's selection.

Gillian stared into her mirror, pouting. She was almost angry at Nadine. On top of everything, she only got back yesterday. Her vacation had been good, but she still needed time. Time to assimilate everything. Time. She used to think it was so simple. No. She never used to think about it at all. And now she was stranded in it. She shook her head, chastising herself. She'd promised herself she wouldn't get all down like this. And she was finally really beginning to feel at home here. That's why she couldn't face any additional problems, like trouble with the police. On the other hand, maybe she needed some diversion. Nadine said he was quite intelligent, and "full of crazy ideas." Almost sounded interesting. And Nadine had promised her, assured her, this guy did not mean trouble. With a defeatist shrug she stood up and left her room.

His voice met her as she descended the stairs with a reluctant step. But her ears perked up when she heard what he was enthusiastically explaining to Nadine in the living room. "...but you don't understand! If there _are_ intelligent beings on other planets, there's no reason to assume they'd be like us..."

He stopped when Gillian walked in and jumped to his feet. At that very moment there was a crash of broken glass and a loud "Uh oh!" from the kitchen. Nadine rushed out, with Gillian and the policeman in close pursuit.

Johnny was standing on a stool, leaning over the sink, and he was bleeding badly from a gash on his hand. There was a shattered tumbler in the sink. The cop grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped the hand while he instructed, "Call for an ambulance, Nadine," but Gillian had beaten him to it.

While she was giving the address to the operator, she heard him reassure Nadine, "Now don't worry. He's going to need some stitches, but he'll be fine."

By the time the ambulance arrived, most of the bleeding had stopped and Johnny's mother was visibly calmer. She insisted on riding in the ambulance, and she also insisted that Gillian stay and serve the dinner. "No use letting good food go to waste because of Johnny's mishap," she declared, leaving Gillian twice as uncomfortable as she'd been.

"Well," she said, closing the door behind Nadine. "I'll bring in dinner. Why don't you sit down?"

"I'll help. Here..." He handed her a platter, then skillfully lifted the roast from the oven and onto it. Within a few minutes they were seated at the loaded table, an awkward silence shrouding them.

He finally broke it with, "Nadine let me think I was having dinner with a man friend of hers."

"Nadine is full of surprises," she replied, but then the silence fell again. "I heard you mention alien intelligences?" she tried.

He stared at her. "Such things interest you?"

"More than you can imagine. What did you have in mind, hominoids or real monster aliens?"

"Both!" he almost shouted.

She stared at this ununiformed policeman who got so excited about extraterrestrials. "You go for little green Martians, or belligerent things like H.G. Wells' invaders?" she asked, trying to keep her comments nonanachronistic.

"Martians are too dull," he replied thoughtfully. "There probably aren't even any. It's the people outside our solar system that intrigue me."

"You talk like they really exist." She forced herself to laugh.

"They do!" he answered, dead serious. Then he broke a small grin and said, "They _have_ to!"

Their food was practically cold before they remembered to eat it, and by dessert, they had switched to the topic of narcotics. He was explaining some of the horrors he had witnessed as a policeman, and he was perplexed and intrigued by her apparent grasp of the situation. Then she shocked him with the comment, "There probably isn't a bigger problem facing this society than the danger of illegal drugs. Thousands of lives will be wasted because of them, and it's a problem that will touch every sector of society; rich, poor, urban, rural, young, and old."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "You're one of the few people I have ever talked with who realized the enormity of the problem. Would you like to get involved?"

"Involved?" she asked, her defenses suddenly activating as automatically as a starship's shields.

"We're trying to organize a citizens' group, mainly to promote awareness, provide education."

"Sort of a consciousness raising project," she stated.

"Conscious...hey! I like the term! Yes, that's exactly what it's to be. Interested?"

"I might be," she replied, carefully noncommittal. "How about some of Nadine's famous coffee?"

"After I help with the dishes."

She started to protest, then thought better of it. Before they could get started, Nadine called to say that all was well with Johnny. She needed several reassurances that the accident had not interfered with dinner, and yes, he was a nice man, as she had promised. Gillian would give her nothing more, however, feeling that her unsatisfied curiosity would serve as punishment for the practical ambush, and Nadine promised to be home soon.

As they washed the dishes, they came to the conclusion that they needed to talk some more about science fiction. She led him into the living room with their coffee, and as they sat down on the couch, she laughed and set down her cup. Extending her hand, she said, "We never did get properly introduced. I'm Susan Armstrong. Nadine said your name was Gene?"

"Yes," he replied, returning her smile. "Gene Roddenberry."

_Please review. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks!_


	8. Chapter 8

The crew of the _Enterprise_ were hardly affected by the warp distortions of time displacement maneuver, thanks to Mr. Spock's modifications, which had delayed the already impatient captain two additional days. McCoy had remarked, to no one in particular, that he couldn't see what the all-fired rush was about, since they were only going to backtrack over all this time anyway. But at last they had left, and now here they were.

"What date do you make, Spock?" asked Kirk.

"Unknown. However...sensors indicate the antiviral appears in all of the oceans."

"Then she made it!" Kirk shouted. "She's here!"

"Perhaps doubly so, Captain," said Spock.

"What do you mean?"

"The presence of the antiviral does indeed indicate that Dr. Taylor arrived in the past to administer it. It's presence throughout the planet, however, indicates that it has been some time since she did so. If we have arrived prior to the time when we last did, when we removed her from this century, then the Gillian Taylor of this time is still here as well."

"You mean there's two of her?" demanded McCoy gruffly.

"Well, let's find one of them!" ordered Kirk, turning to Uhura. "Scan their electronic records. Look for—"

"Captain," interrupted Spock. "It is hardly likely that we could find her that way, at least the Dr. Taylor whom we are seeking. She would have had to change her name and create a parallel existence for herself. Her counterpart would probably not understand the presence of a duplicate."

McCoy was annoyed that no one was answering him. He asked loudly, "How the hell can there be two Gillians? Doesn't the blasted continuum react badly to that?"

Spock surprised him by turning and replying, "A good question, Doctor. The answer, however, is unknown. The tenuousness of the continuum under such a condition is another reason I have suggested we not begin by seeking out Dr. Taylor."

"Well, have ye found her yet?" boomed Scotty's voice the instant he got out of the turbolift.

"Mr. Spock was just explaining why we shouldn't start looking for Gillian," replied Kirk.

"Ach, lad! I dinna mean _her_! I meant my shuttle!"

Spock and Kirk exchanged a momentary look, then Spock bent over his console. Seconds later he announced, "Sensors detect no warp engines in orbit or on the planet surface..."

"But what if they've been shut down for years?" protested Scotty.

"I'll scan for dilithium emanations...wait...a faint signal...yes...coordinates six—" he interrupted himself and stood up straight. "Captain, the shuttle is on the far side of the Moon."

Chekov had the _Enterprise_ halfway there before Kirk could give the command, and as they settled into a synchronous orbit above the craft, Kirk ordered, "Cut the cloaking device. We need to save as much energy as we can."

"Aye, that we do," agreed Scott. "Spock, can you tell? Did she crash?"

"Negative, Mr. Scott, there is no trace of disrup...Captain life support systems are down."

"Then she's dead!"

"What did you expect, Jim?" asked McCoy. "Spock says she's could've been here for years. She'd hardly set up house on the moon. They probably don't even have a single lunar colony yet."

"But how could the shuttle get there by itself, Bones?"

Spock answered, "Mr. Scott's main computer could have taken the shuttle there."

"That dumb thing? And anyway, why would Gillian instruct it to go to the moon and shut down?"

"It may have done it on its own initiative," suggested Spock.

Kirk stared at him. "By itself?"

Spock seemed in pain as he answered, "Affirmative. Series 40-K helm computers, which were popular in the early part of Earth's last century, were programmed to mimic human behavior, including initiating decision making. Later, humans learned the advantage of keeping their machines as tools rather than companions."

Kirk had to grin at Spock's sermonette, but then he said seriously, "But that companion might just have made the difference for Gillian. So, is that snobbish computer still working?"

"The computer circuits are still active," remarked Spock.

"Then it can tell us what happened to Gillian!" exclaimed Scotty.

Kirk commanded, "Have three E-suits readied. Mr., Spock, Scotty, you—"

"Captain!" said Spock. "In response to our sensor scans, the shuttle's shields were raised. We cannot beam aboard."

"Shields?" asked Kirk incredulously.

"There was a wee bit o' room left," confessed Scotty. "It seemed a good idea. At the time."

"Of course," said Kirk. "Spock, can you—"

"Captain!" cried Uhura. "A tight-beam message, Starfleet open code, asking for identification. It's from the shuttle."

Scotty leapt to Uhura's station, flipped a switch, and shouted, "Ach, you traitorous little piece o' junk! You're going to wish you couldn't identify me when I get through dismantling you!"

"So the Scotsman comes to the rescue," came Archie's nasal voice over the bridge comm. "Only took you thirty years. Congratulations."

Kirk hid a grin, then demanded, "I'll handle this. Computer, where is Dr. Taylor?"

"Oh," whined Archie, "so you bought Captain Quark with you. I'm impressed." He didn't sound it.

Now it was McCoy hiding the grin, but Kirk was livid. "Listen here! I demand to know where Gillian is!"

"When you find out, tell me," replied Archie, his voice suggesting a sustained grief. He added softly, "I haven't stopped looking for one nanosecond of the last three decades."

"Devoted little bugger," offered McCoy into the stunned silence of the bridge.

Kirk recovered and said, "Computer, prepare to dump your data files—"

"Listen, Captain," interrupted Archie. "If it's all the same to you, I have dust you wouldn't believe in my circuits, and I don't even want to think of the salt corrosion from the flood, and that last meteorite almost knocked off my—"

Kirk knew when to give up. "Okay," he said, "Drop your shields so we can get a tractor beam on you. Scotty, your bairn needs you on the Hangar Deck."

* * *

"But wasn't there some way you could get a fix on her?" asked Kirk in desperation. The four of them, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Scott, had been at it for hours. After the first few minutes in the cramped cabin Scotty had suggested they patch Archie into the _Enterprise_'s main computers, so they could interrogate him in the comfort of the bridge. McCoy was getting along pretty well with the long-lonely machine, but Kirk and Scott were exasperated with his manner. Spock had been poring over the data transfer and had said little.

"I tried everything," answered Archie for the umpteenth time.

"Captain," said Spock, finally glancing up, "the wealth of historical information that this computer has provided is beyond everything in the Federation in scope. It has records of every transmission from every source over the last three decades. It is worth a kings' ransom to archivists."

"Hear that?" asked Archie. "You dismantle me, and you'll never get it!"

"We already have it," grumped Scotty, not really interested in this argument.

"Then I'll sue for copyright!"

"Computers can't sue people," replied Kirk, "but we're more than willing to trade your li...continued existence for the information you've provided. Aren't we, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, sir," he said reluctantly. "But what use is it to us?"

"There has to be something there," offered Kirk lamely. "Spock?"

"I have run preliminary equations for this time-space. It is as I suspected. The continuum at this point is extremely fragile, probably due to the duplicate Dr. Taylors as well as our presence here, which is converging upon our arrival in 1986. In fact, one of the equations wound up with a zero denominator."

He made that sound so ominous no one bothered to ask for details. Archie had told them right away that it was early 1984, and that he had lost Gillian in July of 1953. Kirk asked, "What if we go back to the point where she transported down without her communicator?"

"Captain," pleaded Scotty, "not another jump! And then you'll be wanting to make it back as well! I'm not sure she can take it!"

Kirk gave him his characteristic grin. "I'm sure you'll be able to get the _Enterprise_ to come through for us. Spock, what do you think?"

"One moment, Captain..." He watched his monitor for a few seconds, then turned and said, "Calculations indicate that the continuum is surprisingly stable at the nexus of Dr. Taylor's disappearance and our potential arrival."

"What the hell does that mean, Spock?" demanded McCoy.

"It means," said Kirk with another grin, "that the continuum is asking us to go back and find Gillian."

Spock lifted a brow and remarked, "Interestingly put, Captain, but there are several other possibilities as well."

"But even if we do go back," interjected Scott, "how will we find her?"

"What about her tricorder?" asked McCoy, jumping from his seat. "The computer said she took one!" He addressed the computer, "Hey, you could have homed in on that. There could hardly have been more than one to scan for on the whole damned planet!"

"I tried, Doctor. I waited for her to turn it on, and the instant she did, I began to fix the coordinates."

"So?" demanded Kirk.

"So a second after she activated the main circuit, she did something to the statistics module," he answered, as if that explained everything.

"One second exactly?" questioned Spock.

"Well, it was more like point three one nine seconds," allowed Archie, "but who cares?"

"Oh, dammit!" yelled McCoy. "Now we've got Spock correcting the computer's accuracy!"

Kirk responded, "Look, smartass computer, what the hell does the stat module have to do with anything?"

Spock beat Archie to the answer, "It is the circuitry of the statistics module on a scientific tricorder which contains the locus most sensors scan for, Captain. If Dr. Taylor tampered with it, she would render it invisible to the shuttle's sensors."

"That's it, Spock, you tell 'em!" said Archie.

"Oh, shut up!" said McCoy, finally losing his patience with this machine. "Why would she do that?"

"Probably to make an arithmetic computer," suggested Scotty, his mind already clearly involved in figuring out what she had done. "She could have used the module to program an elementary computer for mathematical computation."

"What for?" continued McCoy.

"Because she was a scientist with her heart in the Twenty-third Century," answered Kirk with an empathetically mournful look, "stuck in a place where the primitive transistor hadn't been developed yet...Spock! You said 'most sensors.' Could ours pick it up, even if she rigged a computer out of it?"

"Quite likely. We could set the sensors for the parallel rhombidium circuits. They would be unaffected."

"Then let's go!" He caught Spock's look and said, "Damn the continuum, Spock! We have to!"

* * *

Dr. McCoy finally had to threaten the captain with involuntary sedation to get him to leave the bridge, where Spock and Archie were painstakingly working on a slingshot course to hit the time as accurately as possible. The shuttle computer had likened their chances to hitting a bulls-eye from five klicks away, shooting blindfolded, standing backward to the target, but Spock had preferred "a probability of point eight one of arrival within plus or minus two years standard of the target date." McCoy had had to agree with Archie.

Now he was in the captain's quarters, sharing the captain's Saurian brandy. "Better than ylodrozine any day," said McCoy, saluting Kirk with his glass.

Kirk forced a smile and said, "Thanks for the prescription, Bones."

"Any time, Jim. 'Specially if you're buying!"

"Why'd she do it?" Kirk asked suddenly.

"To save the whales, you said," answered the puzzled McCoy.

"Bullshit. She could have done that and come right back. That fool computer said she told it from the start that she wasn't coming back."

"Maybe she was homesick, Jim. It'd be awfully tough to leave everything you knew behind, no matter how new and exciting you found everything."

"No good, Bones. She was out of place in her own time. Jensen, the skipper of the _Hawking_? He said he'd never had as fine a scientist on board. Said she soaked up all the technology in a matter of days. She couldn't get enough of our century! And then she went and marooned herself in that place! It was hopelessly primitive by her own standards!"

"Maybe that's what she meant by sacrifice," said McCoy softly.

Kirk startled, then he remembered he had shown his friend the full text of Gillian's note.

McCoy refilled Kirk's glass. "Maybe," he added, "maybe letting her be is the sacrifice _you_ have to make."

"I thought you agreed we should go back!"

The doctor stood up. "I don't know what we should do! I'm just an old country doctor, not a theoretical physicist. Jim, it pains me as much as you to think of Gillian trapped back there, but, damn it! It was her choice, made of her own free will..." He looked around the room for a moment, then turned back and said, "But I do know James T. Kirk. And he isn't going to give up without the old academy try."

Jim smiled up at him, and he scowled in response. "Just leave Spock alone so we don't find Neanderthals roasting a mammoth for our reception feast!" He turned and walked out.

* * *

"Mr. Sulu, standard orbit, and keep the cloaking device on," commanded Kirk. If nothing else, it would shield them from Archie's sensors on the far side of the moon, and the last thing he needed was _two_ of those damned computers bugging him.

"Aye, sir," replied the helmsman, easing the controls into the proper configuration.

"Spock? Do we have a fix on the date?"

"Working, captain...A German language transmission—two July nineteen fifty-four."

"A year later," said Archie, who was still patched in. "Not bad, if I do say so myself. I feel younger already."

"You aren't going to be built for over two hundred years," laughed Uhura, adding, "Captain, we have been scanned by primitive radar with no consequence."

"Fine. Continue wide-band monitoring. Spock? Those rhombidium circuits?"

"Scanning now, Captain. We are beginning our sweep in the Los Angeles region. Antiviral concentrations are consistent with one year since initial drop, by the way."

"Good. And your equations?"

"Of course, all I can run are the preliminaries, but they indicate that the continuum is relatively stable. Six of the first projections are almost identical."

Something in Spock's voice caught Kirk's attention. "And the seventh?" he asked.

Spock hesitated before replying, "The seventh is remarkably like those I obtained in my first run of the equations back in the altered future. It indicates no record of a Dr. Gillian Taylor ever existing."

"Analysis?"

"Insufficient data. It is perhaps significant that historical records from our two visits to the nineteen eighties agree on the birth date of Dr. Taylor as twenty-one September nineteen fifty-four."

"So there's only one of them here!" said Kirk.

"Not unless they knew how to do something we don't, Jim," laughed McCoy. "Gillian's mother is waddling around down there, complaining about the heat and about the baby standing on her bladder, if I have my guess."

"Spock, how long do you estimate until we find the tricorder?"

"Difficult to say, Captain. My initial hypothesis has proven inaccurate. There are devices down there whose sensor profiles mimic the laseronics of the rhombidium circuit. I believe they are ancient cathode ray generators, an obsolete vacuum technology. If the tricorder were in operation, I would have no problem, but it does not appear to be. I shall have to write a program to parse these devices out."

"Then get on it, Mr. Spock," replied Kirk with that exuberant cheerfulness he always exuded when the hunt was on. "Engineering! Mr. Scott, how did she hold together?"

"Aye, she's a bonnie lass, Captain! Everything's fine down here. We're a bit low on the dilithium crystals, but she'll be up to specs in a couple o' hours."

"We need to stay cloaked, Scotty."

"No problem there, Captain. An' I always have the dilithium from the shuttle if I need—" The connection went dead, but Uhura's hands flew over her board, severing Archie's interfaces with communications, and Scotty's voice returned, "...if that rapscallion doesn't behave himself!"

"Excellent, Mr. Scott. Spock, I'll be in my quarters. Call me the instant you've located the tricorder."

* * *

"So, what do you think, Susan?"

"Well, Gene, I'm afraid to answer that. I mean, lately whenever I give you an opinion, you act as if I'm some kind of oracle or something."

"Can I help it if your predictions make me money?" he laughed.

"I don't offer my _suggestions_ so you can invest in the stock market!"

"Okay, I'm sorry. It's just that I find you an uncannily insightful woman. But I really would like your opinion of the idea."

Gillian hesitated. Of course it was a good idea. It became a classic. Or would, in a few years when it finally got going. "All right," she acquiesced, "I think the idea for television scripts based on experiences in the LAPD is really good. Why don't you work on a couple about your own and see what kind of reception they get?"

"I will! Now, what do you want to do after dinner? A movie?"

"Yeah," she laughed, "I'd like to see that one you have the idea for, the one with the yellow-blooded wasp creatures that are telepathic?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while to see that one. How about seeing if Johnny and Nadine want to go with us. I think that new western Johnny's been talking about is at the Rialto."

"Sure. Nadine's been fretting too much over her promotion; it'll do her good to get out."

"I thought everything was going well for her."

"It is! I haven't been able to convince her of it, though. She's afraid that the men in the office are upset that she's been put over them."

"I bet they are!" laughed Gene.

"They shouldn't be," snapped Gillian.

He shook his head. "Susan, you were born too early."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"Your ideas, your ideals—they belong to some future world, a world where people get along, where differences don't matter, where all the things people talk about on the Fourth of July are actually lived, not just talked about."

"In that case," she mused, "I probably shouldn't be born at all. I doubt there ever will be such a time..." She brightened with a smile and asked, "But it can't hurt to work toward it, can it?"

"That's the only way it will come to pass." He refilled her wine glass and said, "Can you believe it, the good old U.S. of A is going to be a hundred seventy-eight years old."

She subtracted quickly. "That's right. Fourth of July, nineteen fif—"

"What is it? What's wrong, Susan?"

"I...I just remembered something. Gene? Do you think it's wrong to do something you know you really shouldn't, if the reason you're doing it is to save someone's life?"

"Susan, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, never mind. It's a crazy idea. I'm sorry, I don't think I'm in the mood for a movie. Why don't you take the Brents? I'll see you later. Bye." Before he could say anything, she had gathered her purse and run from the table.

* * *

"Spock, it's been over a day!" complained Kirk.

"The delay was due in part to the extreme modifications Dr. Taylor has made in the tricorder circuitry.

"What do you...then you've found her!"

"Negative, Captain. I have located her...I believe the term was 'automobile'."

"Great! Is that where the tricorder is?"

"Part of it. Apparently she used some of the device to store data."

"In her car?"

"I was able to access some of the files; there were lists of whale migration figures. Perhaps she used the vehicle to track the whales along the coast, and entered the data as she went."

"Why the past tense, Spock?"

"Sensors indicate the powerpack on the tricorder went dead quite a while ago. They are not designed for sustained use without recharge. She undoubtedly left the device installed after it became nonfunctional."

"It's possible, I guess. Okay, let's get ready to beam down."

When Spock just stood there immobile, Kirk asked, "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"I recommend that we do not beam down, sir."

"Explain."

"The vehicle is located in an area of high human lifeform density. There is no adequate cover, and we would certainly be seen."

"So, we'll go tonight, when it's dark."

"And do what, Jim?" asked McCoy, siding reluctantly with Spock. "Knock on windows until we find her? What if she doesn't even own the car any more?"

"Well, we can't just stand here!...I've got it! We'll leave her a note."

"A note?" repeated McCoy. Then he spoofed, "Dear Gillian...How are you? Call if you want to get together. Sincerely, Jim Kirk."

"That's perfect, Bones! And we'll put a communicator with it, so she can do just that."

"Uhn uhn! I'm not getting involved in this!" proclaimed McCoy, rising and heading for the lift. "Last time I left a communicator in a primitive culture, I paid hell for it!" The doors whooshed behind him.

"Uhura!" said Kirk excitedly.

"Here, captain," she said with a warm grin, handing him a sheet of paper and an inked writing stylus. "I thought you might want to write it yourself."

* * *

"Aw, Susan! Can't you stay and come to the picnic tomorrow with us?"

"Afraid not, Johnny. I have to go to San Francisco for the Fourth," she answered, wrapping a sandwich in wax paper.

"But Officer Roddenberry is coming, and we're gonna have fireworks, and..."

"Don't pester," instructed his mother as she came into the kitchen. "Susan, are you sure you don't want to take more than this? It's hardly a picnic without all the fixings."

"This is fine, thanks. Now, I'm not sure when I'll be back, so don't worry about me."

"I gave up worrying about you a long time ago," laughed Nadine, packing a bowl of potato salad into Gillian's hamper.

"I'm glad to hear that," replied Gillian, removing the bowl and handing it to her. "Okay, Johnny, a quick kiss good-bye! If I'm late for this trip, I might as well not go."

She had an early start, and she made good time. It was late morning on the Fourth of July as she drove into the tree-lined streets of her original hometown. All the way on the drive she wrestled with her conscience. How many times had she heard the details of this day? The picnic, the relatives, the confusion. Then Timmy running out after the ball, and Momma...Momma running after him. She used to tell it so vividly that Gillian could almost hear the dull, sickening thud as Timmy's body was thrown across the pavement. And then her mother being hospitalized for observation. They'd thought she'd lose the baby—Gillian would be born soon. Now _there's_ a time paradox for you! Physically, she was fine in a day or two, but Momma never really recovered. Was it worth tampering with the continuum to spare Momma the fathomless grief?

How could she even ask herself? And Timmy! Momma always said he had such promise. He was such a good boy, such a smart boy...For a moment she shuddered as she thought of what difference a good, smart man could make on history. She thought yet again of Jim's story of a woman too good for history. Jim stood back and watched it happen. She herself had called him heroic for that act.

She looked up and gasped. Like out of a memory, brought to life from all those glossy, scalloped-edged, black and white photos in those musty old albums, this was her old neighborhood. Every other house seemed to be hosting a picnic. There were kids running everywhere. She glanced at her watch. A couple of hours to go. She found a parking space in the shade and opened her lunch. As she munched a sandwich, she smiled at the children playing tag in the park next to her. Suddenly she realized what she'd known all along. All right, dammit, so she wasn't a hero.

* * *

"The vehicle hasn't moved in more than an hour. It's still...right there." Sulu pointed to the map being displayed on the main viewscreen.

"What do you think, Spock? Did she see the note?"

"It is equally likely that someone else is piloting this automobile, captain. The note would mean nothing to anyone other than Dr. Taylor, nor would the communicator."

"But we're still getting the communicator's frequency with the car! Maybe she just didn't see it. Maybe she was in a rush, or had something else on her mind. What would she be doing in San Francisco? Look, is there any place we can beam down nearby?"

"I'll scan," said Sulu helpfully.

"Bones, break out those clothes we had put together."

"Jim, did you get a look at those things? You could fit both your legs on one side of the pants!"

"You'll look smashing, I'm sure," said Kirk. "Sulu? Anything?"

"There is a considerable amount of vegetation near the vehicle, sir, but there are many people in the vicinity."

Uhura turned from her station. "Captain, I've been monitoring their newscasts. This is a holiday. There's a lot of talk of picnics."

"Yes, picnics were the tradition on the Fourth of July," replied Kirk.

"Ah yes," agreed Chekov, "an old Russian custom."

"Not down there!" came Archie's voice. "That's what caused this whole problem in the first place, them thinking Gillian was a Russian."

"Barbarians, of course," said Chekov smugly.

"All right," said Kirk, "let's get ready to—"

"Captain!" interrupted Sulu. "The vehicle is moving again. Speed only thirty-four kilometers per hour."

"This is it!" said Kirk irritatedly. "Let's get into our clothes. The instant that car comes to a sustained halt, I want a fix on it. Bones, Spock, get dressed and meet me in the Transporter Room."

* * *

Gillian rode through the busy streets, marveling how different they looked from behind the wheel of a car. Everything had looked so big and open to her back then, but now she saw the roads as crowded menaces. As she neared the street, she accelerated unconsciously. She didn't know the exact moment of the accident, and...

A sudden screech of tires and a horn honking caused her to swerve instinctively. An open roadster filled with rowdy teenage boys took the corner on two wheels and sped by her, oblivious to the close all. As soon as she saw their trajectory, she pulled back into the road and took off after them, her own tires squealing in protest. When she rounded the next corner, the scene ahead burned itself in her mind.

Her house was at the end of the block, the lawn covered with picnickers. As she sped down the street in hot pursuit, she even caught a glimpse of Momma. Her bangs stuck to her head with sweat, her belly sticking out, she was smiling at all the friends and relatives.

Gillian was closing on the car when it passed her house. She felt a moment of relaxed confusion and began braking. Nothing had happened! But then she saw a bright red ball fly out into the street from the other side. Of course! The MacMillans! Momma said Timmy always played over there. Only Mrs. Taylor saw it at the same instant, and without looking, she ran to save her son, who had followed the ball into the path of the roadster. Gillian screamed as her car hit Momma with a dull, sickening thud.

* * *

"It's come to a stop," came Sulu's voice from the intercom.

"Aye, we've got the coordinates," said Scotty. He turned to the three men on the pad and said, "It's amazing that ye are not going to be conspicuous dressed like that."

They exchanged embarrassed looks, and Kirk fought back a grin at the sight of Spock with his hat tucked down over his ears. "All right, Scotty. Energize!"

They hadn't needed the vegetation Sulu had suggested they use as cover. No one anywhere near was paying attention to anything other than two spots in the roadway about fifty meters apart. In each there was a vehicle stopped in the middle of the street with a cluster of people around it. McCoy ran to the first and saw immediately that there was nothing he could do for the little boy sprawled crookedly on the pavement. He hurried to the second just as Spock and Kirk arrived. Spock reached through the front window of the empty car and retrieved a communicator and a piece of paper from the floor. He looked up at Kirk, who nodded.

McCoy joined the throng around the pregnant woman lying in the road and said, "Let me through, I'm a doctor." When he got to the woman, he cradled her head in his lap and waved his hand, which palmed his tricorder, over her abdomen.

Ignoring the whispered comments of "What's he doin'?" and "Is he really a doctor?" he checked the readouts and said, "Ma'am, can you hear me?"

"Yes...my boy..."

"I'm a doctor, ma'am. Do you hurt anywhere?"

"My boy!" she cried more loudly. "Where's Timmy?"

"They're checking on him," lied McCoy.

"Oooh!" groaned the woman, clutching her belly. "My baby! I'm going to lose my baby."

Kirk caught the doctor's eye with a quizzical look, and McCoy just nodded. The tricorder indicated the baby was already dead.

"Doctor," she pleaded, "you've got to save my baby!"

"We've called an ambulance," offered one of the bystanders.

"Good," said McCoy. "Ma'am you're going to be fine, just fine."

"My baby!"

"Relax, ma'am. The ambulance is on its way. What's your name, ma'am?"

"Taylor. Edna Taylor." She turned her head up to view McCoy. "Doctor, please save my baby."

Dammit, thought McCoy. This is never easy, but he was spared having to deal any more with it by the raucous arrival of the ambulance. When Mrs. Taylor was loaded, he joined Kirk and Spock, who were examining the car.

"Strangest thing I ever seen!" one of the crowd was telling them. "Coulda swore there was a young lady at the wheel, but after that woman got hit, weren't nobody in there!"

"Indeed," understated Spock.

"You said it, Mac," agreed the informant.

"Thank you, sir," said Kirk, turning to Spock. "What do you make of it?"

"There is a logical explanation," started Spock.

"Now how come that doesn't surprise me?" snapped McCoy, pursing up his whole face. "A little boy is dead, his pregnant mother gets hit and loses the baby, and it's logical to you! Why you, green-blooded, cold-hearted—"

"Doctor!" said Kirk with a forced laugh, herding the two of them away from the curious crowd that was gathering around them. "Let's get back to the ship," he whispered, and he steered them to the bushes that they had beamed in behind.

* * *

"That's as ridiculous as there being two Gillians at once!" snorted McCoy after they had gathered back on the bridge of the _Enterprise_, where Spock offered his explanation.

"Nevertheless, it is probably correct, Doctor."

"So when Gillian hit her mother," repeated Scotty, trying to make sense of it all, "she killed her unborn self, which meant that there was no Dr. Taylor for us to find when we came after the beasties?"

"Correct, Mr. Scott. And therefore she could not return with us to our time, nor could she then subsequently return to this time."

"So she couldn't have been driving that car!" argued Kirk. "So how did her mother get hit?"

Spock was still gearing up to speak when Kirk answered his own question, "I know! The cruel paradoxes of time displacement."

Spock merely nodded, but McCoy was still angry. "Okay, then. What happens now when we go back? Is that probe going to be there, boiling the oceans?"

"And what about the effects of Gillian's dea...of her never existing?" asked Uhura.

"Both questions are impossible to answer," said Spock. "Captain, if we had another set of data, I could recalibrate the equations to give some accuracy to a probability statement to prepare us for our return to the Twenty-third Century."

Scott griped, "That sounds a wee bit like another request for a time displacement maneuver!"

"Can we do it, Scotty?" asked Kirk, glad for any action to take his mind off things.

"Nay, but we will. I'd better go get my engines prepared for the shock. An' Mr. Spock! You'd better do better this time on the warp flux ratios, or I canna guarantee she'll make another jump. We could be stranded here!" He huffed his way out of the bridge.

"How far, Spock?" asked Kirk.

"A jump of ten to twenty years should suffice. I'll begin the computations."

* * *

"Come," said Kirk lethargically.

The door opened, and McCoy walked in, a bottle and two glasses in hand. "I'm buying this time, Jim."

Kirk nodded but didn't smile. "Another magical prescription, Bones?"

"Nothing magical about it. Get yourself sauced, forget your sorrows."

"How's that supposed to work?"

"I don't know," conceded the doctor. "I think you feel so bad in the morning you forget what was bothering you."

Kirk looked up at him. "Bones, how do you mourn someone who never lived?"

"But she did, Jim!"

"When we get back, if we get back, if there's anything to get back to, she won't have played any role in it."

McCoy shook his head definitely. "No, Jim, that's not true! Even if there's no record of her anywhere, she's responsible for setting things right. Don't tell that pointy-eared son of a bitch, but what he's been saying makes sense. About the continuum? When it got thrown out of joint, it flowed around all of us to make things right again. How come she wound up back here, instead of where she came from?"

Kirk was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I wish I could believe that, Bones. It would make it easier, believing there at least was a reason behind it all, that it wasn't some sick, cosmic joke."

McCoy nodded and handed him a glass full of a clear blue liquid. "Romulan ale?" asked Kirk with surprise.

"Don't worry, Jim. In this time there was no embargo. It's perfectly legal."

* * *

"Oh, Gene," cried Nadine, closing the door behind him. "I'm so glad you could come right over."

"Calm down, I'm here. Now, what's this about Susan?"

"She never came home. She didn't say exactly when she'd be back from Frisco, so when she wasn't I didn't get too worried, after all, with the holiday and the traffic. But she wasn't here by supper, and she's got work tomorrow, and I got so frantic, I finally called you."

"Okay, we'll find her. I'll start with the police up there..."

"I already called them, and all the hospitals. I spent hours on the phone! Gene, there's no trace of her!"

"What about her car?"

"I don't know. How can we check on that?"

"I will. Later. Nadine, please sit down—you're making me nervous jumping around like that. That's better. We have to start at the beginning, check the records..." He was thinking out loud.

Nadine cleared her throat, then said feebly, "Gene, I think you should know. Susan Armstrong isn't her real name."

"No?"

"No, she had to assume a new name when...well, she had some problems."

"What kind of problems?" he asked, thinking of her question to him just before she rushed off, and of the kinds of trouble that help people disappear suddenly.

"Nothing bad! Stop thinking like a cop, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am! Actually, it doesn't surprise me. It was clear that Susan lived a different sort of life. You could almost convince me she was one of those aliens we always talked about."

"Gene! What a horrible thing to say about a nice young woman like Susan!"

"I meant it as a compliment, Nadine. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, and I don't much like saying it, but is it possible she didn't plan on coming back?"

"Of course not! Why, she...well, there was a mysteriousness about her trip, I mean, more mysterious than usual with her."

"Do you mind if I take a look in her room?"

"Her room? Well, no, I guess not. It's this way..."

"See," announced Nadine, opening the closet door, "all her clothes are still here. And look! Here's a bunch of money on her dresser. She got paid yesterday, and this is most of it! If she were leaving for good, she'd certainly take her money, wouldn't she?"

He nodded. Cash was one thing a runaway would want. But it didn't make him feel better. He almost wished she had meant to disappear. It made for a happier ending.

"Officer Roddenberry! What are you doing here? Mom, is Susan home yet?"

Nadine ushered Johnny out of the room, leaving Gene to examine it more fully. He made his way slowly around, looking at everything, touching nothing. He finally came to the night table where a large sheaf of paper sat. The top page was typed with an unusually clear and even print. The title caught his eye, and he read:

THE ADVENTURES OF THE STARSHIP _ENTERPRISE_

by James T. Kirk

Curious, he turned the page and began to read...

_Please review. _


	9. Epilogue

"Nineteen sixty-nine, captain," said Uhura, taking her hand from her earpiece.

"Okay, Spock, get your data and run those equations. Uhura, soak up everything you can for historical files. Engineering!"

"Scott here, sir. Don't tell me you want to jump again!"

"Not right away, Scotty. I just wanted to congratulate your engines on a job well done, as usual."

"Aye, sir. Scott out." Everyone on the bridge smiled at the chief engineer's worn patience.

"Spock, how's the antiviral?"

The Vulcan looked up from the console. "Fascinating, Captain. There is no trace of the antiviral anywhere on the planet."

"Impossible!" cried McCoy. "There's nothing that could wipe out that strain and still leave any lifeforms on Earth!"

"Agreed," said Spock, fixing McCoy with his gaze. "Captain, this development suggests that the antiviral was never placed in the oceans."

"Explain, Spock," said Kirk, not sure he wanted to hear.

"If the antiviral was never brought back..."

Kirk noticed the omission of Gillian's name.

"...Then we can assume that it was not needed. The logical extension of this argument is that the Tellarite virus was never introduced to Earth."

"That would mean we never came for the whales!" cried Kirk.

"Exactly. Which would mean that we will probably not return to find the probe."

"What a load of horse manure!" exclaimed McCoy. "How the hell can you know what a change in history means? Did you know that our bringing the whales back with us would give Uhura a husband?" He noted the emotion that flashed across her face and quickly tried to make up for his gaffe, "Did you know that Sulu was going to be arrested for treason?" This time it was Sulu who reacted, and the doctor quickly continued, "Seems your precious logic is mighty weak on prediction!"

Spock consulted his screen for a moment, then turned back. "Jim, the first of T'Laq's equations have finished. The data are only preliminary..."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. But what do they tell us?"

"On almost every parameter, projections agree with our remembered version of history. It would appear that the rift in the continuum is healing."

McCoy said, "Then tell me something. What have we done to change things? I mean, if by going back, Gillian made it so she never existed, and nothing that happened ever really happened, and everything is back to the way it was, what the hell are we doing here"

"A very good question, doctor," said Spock.

"That's no answer, you pointy-eared bastard! Maybe life is a dream, after all!"

"Gentleman! You must see this!" shouted Uhura, calling the transmission up on the main screen. The field filled with a remarkably accurate picture of a starship bridge, with a remarkably recognizable crew on it. She patched in the audio.

The captain on the screen was saying, "Analysis, Mr. Spock?"

An austere, pointy-eared man in science blue replied, "Insufficient data. I require more time to recompute the gravity flux."

A choleric gentleman, also in blue, screamed, "More time? Spock, we're headed to our death in five minutes!"

"Five point three minutes, Doctor," replied the other.

They watched until the scene changed to a woman dancing around a kitchen with a mop, at which point Uhura cut the signal and turned to face the others. They stared at each other for almost a minute before Kirk found his voice. "Uh, analysis, Mr. Spock?"

"The resemblance is suggestive, Captain."

Everyone turned to McCoy, but he opted out of this one and just stood there, biting his tongue. Finally Uhura said, "Captain? Is this going to make a difference? What about the Prime Directive?"

"Prime Directive? How the hell should I know? How the hell did they get this? Gillian couldn't have done it, she's not here! Or is she? Spock?"

"Checking, Captain...No, she is absent from all projections here, and from the records we have obtained from the ground. As much as is possible, the time continuum seems to have been repaired."

"Then what—"

Uhura interrupted, "Hold on! I don't think we have to worry, Captain. I just monitored some transmissions which indicate that this broadcast phenomenon is not that popular. It is intended as entertainment, but it is being discontinued. I think it's very unlikely that it will make a permanent mark on this society."

"Well, good, then," said Kirk, taking his chair. He paused, then added, "I didn't think it was a very good likeness, anyway. Sulu, as soon as Mr. Spock has the figures, plot in our next jump. Our last jump. We're going home."

_Please review. I'd love to know what you've thought of this._


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